


Across the Irish Sea

by hazelhollyhock



Series: His Josephine [3]
Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Angst and Humor, Belfast, Corruption, Death, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Greenwich, Ireland, Limehouse, Liverpool, London, London Metropolitan Police, Love, Loyalty, Opium, Romance, Scouse, Sex, Victorian, Victorian Attitudes, Whitechapel - Freeform, atmosphere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 51,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8556235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelhollyhock/pseuds/hazelhollyhock
Summary: A Jedediah Shine story. Part II of "Josephine." Jedediah Shine is unceremoniously transferred to Belfast, Ireland to take a position with the Royal Irish Constabulary. He takes along a woman named Josephine Buxton, a woman with a past that crossed with his own when he was a young Constable. Life with Jedediah Shine is relatively happy and stable for a time, but everything is challenged as the true severity of his head injury at the hands of Sergeant Bennett Drake begins to reveal itself in dark and frightening ways, while her own secret threatens to destroy the delicate balance she worked so hard to create. This story begins at the end of Season 2 and leads up to Season 5.





	1. Chapter 1

Belfast, Ireland 1897

The doctor quieted, waiting patiently for Jedediah to respond before saying more. Jedediah steeled himself.

Turning to look toward the window, his maroon scars and pallid complexion highlighted by a stream of sunlight, his deeply lined brow furrowed,

“She needs rest and comfort now.”

Jedediah white-knuckled the top of his cane, a silent storm brewing within.

The doctor continued, all business, “I will be increasing her morphine intake. We have a nurse who will visit daily to provide assistance, if needed. Please, if there is anything we can do…”

Jedediah scoffed.

The doctor, observing the man before him, found him a most enigmatic soul. He wore a fine, white shirt which was perfectly tailored to his figure. His collar was perfectly stiff. He wore a cravat with an emerald pin, and his fine silk waistcoat, upon which an elegant timepiece chain sparkled, was striped with lavender and taupe. His dark brown trousers were impeccably tailored for his height, and they showed no wearing in the knees. His boots were worn, but of good quality. The lines of his athletic figure were perfectly accentuated by his clothing. Jewelry was minimal. He wore a ring on his left index finger, one on his right pinky finger, but no wedding band.

It was obvious a meticulous eye had spared no detail on his clothing, which made the rest of his presence inexplicably confounding. His hair, darkly greasy and bushy, neglected and speckled with flakes of dry skin. His face, too, was oily and unclean. His eyes, puffy from lack of restful sleep, for these days he was mostly rendered unconscious from his drug ministrations, showed a considerable lack of luster. The left eye that suffered so much scarring protruded slightly more than the right, its lid occasionally fluttering involuntarily. His bushy beard, typical of so many men on the streets of Belfast, elongated his wolf-like visage, giving him both a sad and volatile countenance. His odor, however, might have been the hardest to comprehend. There was almost something defensive about it, like an animal warding off predators. It seemed to walk ahead of the man, and linger like an unwelcome guest after he exited. Sitting across from the doctor, Jedediah Shine was like a predator in repose, emitting a noxious warning.

“Mr. Shine. How are you faring?”

Jedediah got up and leaned on his cane, looking down at the doctor for a moment before turning and limping towards the door. The doctor felt that even with a cane and a considerable weakening of his stature, Shine looked like the most formidable creature he had ever seen.

"If I were to ask you, 'Doctor, when will that hour come, when I must to sulfurous and tormenting flames return?' Would you be able to answer me this question?"

The doctor's mouth was agape.

"No? Then it makes no bloody difference. Doctor."

*****

Josephine’s hospital room was like any other with the smell of camphor and bleach permeating the air. The window was opened slightly to allow in fresh air. The curtains gently shushed each other in the breeze.

A young nurse jumped up and excused herself when she noticed Shine in the doorway.

Josephine lay on her back, peaceful, her dark hair carefully brushed. She was deeply asleep. He came to the foot of her bed and watched her.

Slowly, Jedediah stepped around her bed and eased down to sit on the mattress near Josephine’s knees, his body angled towards her. He turned his head, and ran a gaze over her whole form, committing to memory the very shape of her.

Josephine took a deep breath and her brow tightened. Jedediah’s attention flew to her face. She shifted slightly, turning her face towards him.

Jedediah inched closer to her and looked down at her visage. He whispered to her, “do you dream?”

Josephine’s forehead relaxed; she was calm and peaceful once more.

With his right hand, he gently scooped up her left, her fingers reflexively curling around his.

With the back of his left hand, he caressed her left temple, easing some of her hair away from her face. He exhaled audibly and sat like this for some time.

Josephine floated to consciousness slowly. She inhaled deeply and fluttered her eyes.

“Jedediah…” she breathed. Her mouth was so very dry.

Closing her eyes again, the haze of the morphine affected her deeply. “Look at me,” he ordered quietly.

She did. Her large dark eyes opened and found his. The two stared at each other for what seemed an age. She noticed his puffy eyes, his clenched jaw.  The weight of the world on his shoulders. Tears began to well in her eyes and she shook with emotion. He tightened his grip in response.

“We’re going home, my dear.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Jerusalem Street,” Jedediah declared.

“Very good, sir,” answered the cabbie.

“Up ya go, Jo,” Jedediah held the door of the cab open and assisted her as she climbed up. Gingerly, she settled on the seat and watched as he climbed in and lowered his body down beside her with a groan, their shoulders pressing against each other in the close space. Josephine glanced over at him and noticed he was quiet, retreated into a world only he could go. He was often like this these days.

The cab joined the traffic on the main road, passing by beautiful Victorian buildings and shops, the many churches and parks of this Irish city. Jedediah unbuttoned his light coat and pulled out a tobacco tin from an inside pocket. He rolled himself a cigarette and lit it. Leaning his head on the back of the cabin, bearing the strong column of his neck, he inhaled deeply. Josephine could see the not 5-year old maroon scars on his left eye and scalp. He had aged so very much since his unceremonious transfer to Belfast. Indeed, during the last couple of years, he carried with him an imposing patina of melancholy and isolation.

She could tell he had taken a coca tablet, which happened more and more, since the gradual increases in morphine consumption rendered him nearly dead on his feet. Having lived together for these 5 years now, and being visually aware of him anyway, she could tell the most subtle changes in his physiology and determine the timing of one of his medications. She was careful not to nag him too harshly, however, for his temper was not helped by any of it.

He felt her eyes on him and looked down at her wickedly. As if suddenly remembering his manners, he offered the cigarette to her, which she took without a sound. Back and forth it went between them, silently, until Jedediah flicked the butt out the window. 

Their eyes met again, then their lips.

Home was in view.

*****

Seven years past, after Jedediah broke into Josephine’s home and nearly scared her to death, it was clear to members of Scotland Yard that they could not turn a blind eye to the good Inspector’s activities in Whitechapel and Limehouse without it costing the reputation of the Uniform. Edmund Reid, furnished with the damning confessions of Albert Flight, won the attention of Chief Inspector Frederick Abberline, who was then forced to bring these “concerns,” for there was no hard evidence regarding these accusations, in front of the judicial committee at the Yard. With no evidence to prove his guilt, but no desire for scandal, they hoped to stifle the issue by making him disappear to Northern Ireland.

_Abberline had glibly accompanied Shine to the judiciary committee hearing himself to witness the event. Shine stood at attention in his dress blues, coldly staring at nothing, as the Committee head delivered the verdict._

_“Inspector Jedediah Shine, effective immediately, you will resign from your post as head of K Division and transfer to your new position with Her Royal Majesty’s Royal Irish Constabulary in Belfast, Northern Ireland, where you will enter and continue your Criminal Investigation Division duties. Forthwith, your rank will be frozen as Detective Inspector pending you surpass a trial period of 1 year with neither grievances or disciplinary necessities. I will remind you, sir, that while with the RIC, you will remain an Agent of the Crown, to which you are expected to conduct yourself accordingly. Do you understand these orders as I have presented them?”_

_“Yes, sir,” he responded. Heat began to rise within him._

_“Then, sir, you will kindly add your signature to these written orders, which provide you in further details the Crown’s expectations. After which you shall be dismissed.” Pointing to a three different places, “there, there, and there, if you will, sir.” After signatures were collected, “Mr. Shine, you are hereby resigned from the London Metropolitan Police and are now officially a Detective Inspector with the HRM Royal Constabulary Police of Belfast. God be with you there and God Save the Queen.”_

_At this, Shine responded perfunctorily, “God Save the Queen.”_

_"Thank you, Inspector. You are dismissed.” Shine turned on his heels and walked solemnly out of the room, aware that the eyes of Chief Inspector Abberline were upon him._

_Shine hesitated in the lobby to put on his coat, and noticed Abberline approach in his periphery. He stopped and stared at his superior, and waited for the comments. They came quickly._

_“Jedediah. I do not need to remind you that you will exit this quarter without causing a ruckus.”_

_Jedediah squared his shoulders and looked the older man in the eye._

_“Furthermore, you will pocket any resentment you have towards Edmund Reid. You made your own filthy bed, now you must lie in it.”_

_Shine turned away, but Abberline grabbed his arm and came in closer, “You listen good, Shine. You had better tuck that tail between your legs and saunter off to Belfast without issue. If any harm comes down on Sergeant Drake or Inspector Reid, I don’t care if there is evidence or no, I will personally see to it that you are walloped you so hard you won’t know your arse from a hole in the ground. Are we understood?”_

_Shine gave a laugh, “You needn’t worry your rusty guts on their behalf, Chief Inspector. Retribution will come to them, to all of you, one way or another, one day or the next.’”_

_“Jede-”_

_Jedediah's heat rose,“Know this, you old cock, you and your cronies here, you believe that you have written the final chapter on me. You shall find that Jedediah Shine does not go down so easily.”  With a sardonic grin and a feigned respect, added, "Cheers, Chief Inspector."  
_

_Abberline’s eyes could have bored holes in the bastard's head. With the last word, Shine had simply turned and walked away._

*****

When Josephine opened the door from her home, she was surprised to see Jedediah in his uniform.

“Front door today? Must be official business. Aren’t you more accustomed to a window? A back door, perhaps?”

Jedediah kept his wicked eyes on her as sidled past her and entered her home. He walked into the living room and stood by the crackling fire. He kept his back to her as he heard her enter the room and approach him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and placed her chin on his back. She could feel his tension.

“What tugs at you, Jedediah,” it was more a statement than a question.

Presenting her with signed orders, which she took and began to peruse, “you are looking at the newly appointed Detective Inspector with HRM’s Royal Irish Constabulary. “

Josephine looked at him with a questioning expression, the orders open in her hand. Looking down she saw “Belfast, Ireland,” and had to sit down.

“I don’t understand.”

Chief Inspector Abberline had a little birdy in his ear, his sanctimonious little bitch, Edmund Reid, and saw to it that I be forced to resign my post effective immediately.” He sat down with a groan, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag.. “Any protest was highly discouraged, should I wish to be transferred in place of being dishonorably discharged. I had no fucking choice, really.”

Josephine swallowed hard. “Jedediah. What does this mean?”

He knew what she meant. Jedediah glanced towards her and softened. He came to her on the settee, on his knees, pushing her knees apart so that he could inch ever closer. She felt one of his strong arms encircle her waist. Her heart pounded. She was afraid if she said anything she would burst into tears.

His hand caressed her cheek. She leaned in towards it, eyes closed.

“It means, my little dove, that you and I need to settle our personal matters within the fortnight.”  
She opened her eyes at him. “ I hear that Belfast has many beautiful gardens and-”

“Jedediah. Are you saying you wish me to come with you?”

Josephine did not allow him to answer before she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him feverishly.


	3. Chapter 3

Jedediah knelt in front of Josephine and looked into her eyes. They were fiercely soft, yet could at a moment’s notice transform into a tempest rivaling the worst he had witnessed in Hong Kong. The irises, defined by a thin black circle, were icy blue, like a midwinter's morning sky. They were punctuated by jet-black pupils adorned with bright yellow coronas. They were awesome in their strength and potential danger, yet brought with them the promise of life and the brightest of suns.

Her eyes were brightened by her olive skin, traits given to her by Scandinavian roots. At an early age, when she desired nothing more than to meet the ideal beauty standards, she would religiously apply zinc oxide to her face and hands, but no matter what she did, the little bit of sun that London saw would leave her with a healthy glow. Josephine did not realize how much this added to her beauty. In an empire that celebrated pallid, alabaster skin, Josephine’s glow gave her a stunning exoticism.

Her lips were full and rosy even at the age of 39, when so many blooms had already passed that mortal peak and begun the inevitable fade. On the contrary, Josephine seemed to get better with age. Her skin hugged her cheekbones perfectly, and she had a confidence and an experience behind those tempestuous eyes that only a grown woman could carry. He found it delicious.

She had put her hex on him years ago, somehow knowing instinctively what he needed. Not just what a man needed, for any bobtail could learn what to do with an erect cock, but what Jedediah Shine needed. She had an inexplicable way of seeing the tension in his visage and hear it in his voice and know that the anger was welling up inside him. Thus when he came to her, endeavoring to get between her wholesome thighs, she would open up to him like a flower, giving him the pacification he longed for.

She was a precocious teaser in bed, knew tricks to bring him to ecstasy almost embarrassingly swiftly, and for hours after both were spent, he would lay his head on her bosom while she stroked his hair. Like a little boy finding peace and acceptance in her warmth and open arms, he would, in those moments, feel the deepest devotion to her.

But, the young unorthodox, sometimes violent man she once knew had, upon his return from Hong Kong, transformed into a man who was venal, ambitious, and shrewd. Lethal.

His familiarity with the language and the culture allowed him to take swift control of Limehouse's Chinatown and its inhabitants as head of K Division. He was a ruthless fighter in the ring, knocking his opponent unconscious, or worse, and he carried himself with the poise of a gangster; a hardened man, in a place of power.

They had never spoken of her marriage to Charlie; their meetings after his return were ever full of the unspoken. She never asked him about his private life as he had no interest in discussing the outside world. The new-found demand for discretion was new to her. She hated the weakness she had for him, and he for her. The fact that she was married was quite inconsequential during these meetings. He would never let her go, and she would do what she could, no matter how conscious or unintentional, to ensure he couldn't.

She did sometimes find it difficult to ignore his ever-growing reputation for “cooperation” with lowly types within the Limehouse district, an area in which she had found herself more familiar of late. There were two streets that made up Chinatown, the opium dens were to be found there, and in those dens, her husband. With Jedediah's Oriental experience, she considered the possibility that his hand could somehow be in the pocket of those leading the opium trade. That itself did not bother her too greatly. What did bother her was information that Charlie had carelessly divulged during a rare appearance at home.

_That night, Josephine had put on her hat and coat, readying herself to meet Jedediah in his neck of the woods, as they had agreed it was easier to obscure themselves in the bustling cacophony of the East End. She was already running behind when she saw Charlie walk in the door. He looked at her, startled, his wife unexpectedly dressed up to go out- at this time of night? Her nerves shown, making it an easy assumption for him that he had interrupted some important plan. She made some pithy excuse about going for a walk, which no woman did alone at night, even in Greenwich. He let it go, however. He was too tired to fight._

_She awkwardly removed her outer layer and settled in for the night. Jedediah would be waiting for her, no doubt annoyed by her absence. Perhaps Charlie will pass out soon and she will still be able to make it, but it was not a quick jaunt to the Whitechapel lodging house. She nervously spied the time and wrung her hands as she considered her options, few as they were._

_When Charlie showed no sign of providing that window, she resolved to rectify the situation the next time she saw Jedediah. Tomorrow, certainly, she would be able to see him, for tonight was quickly becoming a lost cause. Charlie was annoyingly talkative this night, rambling about this and that. He was quite enthusiastic about his favorite gambling hall, The Pearl, and some gossip he had heard about the goings on there._

_“There’s this chinky little miss down at The Pearl. Gorgeous. 16-year old or something. But quite a woman already, if you catch my meaning. Goes by the name Blush Pang. She administers the most delicious variety of opium. Unlike anything we have here. Men come from all over just to experience her skilled hand. Rumor has it, she’s in bed with Inspector Jedediah Shine, who may or may not have actually brought her here from Hong Kong. ”_

_Charlie said more after that, he always said more than he should, but Josephine had stopped listening. He could have struck her in the gut, so shocked was she to hear Jedediah’s name in relation to this gossip. A variety of sentiments surged through her, namely anger and disgust, and god damnit, jealousy, being a few of them. Images flashed through her mind. Images she wanted to obliterate. She tried her best to supress her true feelings, offering her best casual responses. She waited for the right time to inform him she was tired and headed to bed._

_Walking past him, he said suddenly grabbed her hand and stopped her, “What, no sugar for your husband?”_

_Around 10 the next morning, Josephine hurriedly went to the K Division police station, but was informed he was training at a local boxing clubhouse. Entering the building,  the smell of leather and sweat hit her hard. She saw him standing in the ring, working through impressive improvications of upper and undercuts with another fellow._

_Jedediah turned. She could not read his expression._

_“I’ll be just a minute,” a coldness in his tone._

_He jumped down onto the sanded floor and came towards her. He made no move to embrace her and neither did she._

_“Josephine,” sounding slightly winded, “come. Come back here.”_

_As soon as they entered a back room, he shut the door. “Where were you last night.”_

_“Charlie arrived as I was leaving.”_

_The look in his eye told her he did not see where this should have been a problem, but then changed back to annoyance._

_“Had to play wifey, then, eh?”_

_Understanding his subtext, “No, mercifully. He slept on the settee.”_

_“That is good to hear,” he said, relieved, placing his hands on her shoulders, looking in her eyes, “I wish to make up for lost time, then. Tonight. Same place, same time.” It was almost an order._

_“Jedediah,” she stopped his incoming kiss, “Charlie mentioned something to me. Some gossip involving you. I wish to know whether or not it’s true.”_

_Jedediah clenched his jaw and stood back, putting a bit of distance between them._

_“Alright, give it up then.”_

_She presented the gossip to him, unable to read his stoic face. She felt a tremor suddenly, as though anticipating horrible news._

_“Do you know her, Jedediah?”_

_After a moment to consider, “Yes.”_

_“And?”_

_“And what?”_

_“And...is there truth to what Charlie said?”_

_Jedediah gave a dismissive laugh. “What part?”_

_“All of it! Any of it! Damn it, Jedediah,” she said, frustrated with his game. “Is she anyone of significance to you?” She searched his eyes for an answer._

_“Listen, don’t become so flustered over some measly gossip that some drug-addled waste of breath spouts at you. Come, I could go for a tug.”_

_Pushing him away, “Flustered? I’m not flustered over measly gossip, damn you. I wish to know if -"_

_“...you wish to know if the lady and I are fucking.”_

_Josephine scoffed. “I can always count on you to bring the class, can’t I.”_

_“What if I were,” he said, defensively._

_She stared at him, disbelieving. The rise and fall of her bosom suddenly increasing._

_“Is your corset laced too tight, Jo? You are either experiencing excessive constriction, or you are shocked and upset over something that shouldn’t mean anything at all. You see, how is it you come here and demand an answer over prattle you heard from your bloody **husband**.” _

_“Unfair. Don’t do that.”_

_“What.”_

_“Lie, dismiss, condescend! All of it. Just don’t do it to me. Can you not see it in your heart to tell me the truth! Did you bring her here? To England?"_

_When Jedediah did not respond, she snapped at him, emboldened with anger, “Listen, you may have everyone in this bloody town fooled and answering to you like you’re fucking nobility, including your little toy, wherever you’ve got her holed up, but don’t EVER expect me to fall on my knees and kiss your blackened hand!”_

_She lashed out at him, slapping his face and hitting his chest. He grabbed hold of her forcefully, making her cry out._

_“Stop!” he commanded._

_“I am not afraid of you, Jedediah!”_

_He wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in a smothering hug._

_“Yes,” he said into her hair._

_She stilled._

_“Yes, I am fucking her, Josephine. Yes, I brought her here from Hong Kong. You wanted the truth from me. Now you have it.”_

_She wiggled out of his embrace. She tried her best to compose herself in front of him, but her eyes revealed all._

_“My God. Do you love her?” her face was slack, defeated._

_“I don’t know.”_

_“You brought here here from Hong Kong, she is your lover, and you don’t know if you love her?”_

_He would never reveal to Josephine why he brought her here for too much was at stake, but he wasn’t sure how he could convince her that the love he has for Josephine and the love he has for the girl was not the same._

_“Jo-,” he said, reaching out to her._

_“No,” she said, waving him away. “No more. No more.” Without another word, she moved past him and left and stumbled mid-stride, trying to tell herself how to place one foot in front of the other._

The months following would see life-changing events in both their lives. Jedediah's Hong Kong girl was imprisoned and later deported for the brazen murder of her brother in the middle of the street, in broad daylight, and in front of Edmund Reid. Qian, her real name, had in an impassioned instance become a liability to Jedediah Shine, threatening an exposure that he could not afford. He let her be taken away, amidst her insults and pleas, screamed in her native tongue. The circumstances surrounding the girl turned Edmund Reid's gaze towards Shine, a potential threat that could cost him his position, his wealth, and his reputation. Soon after, Josephine returned home to find two lost souls in her living room. She had interrupted a break-in in progress and bore the brunt of it. When two constables came upon her home around dawn and found the door left ajar, they felt it suspicious. Upon entering the house, they found an unconscious Josephine lying in the middle of her living room, smashed glass everywhere. Jedediah had rushed to the hospital when he heard the news. Hers was not a Limehouse case, but he personally placed guards outside her door and insisted that no one be let in without prior approval. No one thought to argue with him.

Josephine sat  quietly on the hospital bed, looking down, her hands folded in her lap. From a chair next to the bed, Jedediah gazed at her bruises solemnly. Her left cheekbone and neck had formed bruises where the intruder had tried to incapacitate her. Her forehead showed the worst injury: a large round swollen ball having formed where she hit the doorframe.

There was a silent tension between them.

_"The guards probably aren't necessary, Jedediah," she said quietly._

_"How do you fare, Jo?"_

_She answered with silence.  
_

_Quietly, he commanded, "Before the Division Inspector comes to see you, I would know from you now what happened this night past."  
_

_"Jedediah, you need not concern yourself with my affairs."_

_"Josephine, when I heard you were found unconscious, I imagined the most unspeakable things...," he stopped, suddenly. His eyes became moist. He was good."No matter what you think of me, no matter how much you work to avoid me, I will always seek to protect you. You are always my concern, my love."_

_"I'm not your "love." You broke my heart, Jed, my trust. And now, you see me in this vulnerable spot...and here you are, clinging to my bedside asking me to trust you. An opportunity for you to get in my good graces. Do you think me so daft?"_

_Jedediah said nothing. He looked at her and swallowed hard. "I cannot change what I have done. But neither can you. Did you think me indifferent to your marriage to that louse while I tried to make sense of the chaos in Hong Kong?  I know why you married him, Josephine. I abandoned you. When I returned to London, I thought I could begin anew, without you, but then I saw you on Brick Lane, and I knew. I kept the truth of my life from you, because I knew you would never agree to be with me if you knew the truth. But here we are, you and I, and I know I love you still because right now I want nothing more than to bludgeon the ones who laid their paws on you._

_"I am never going to be a saint. I have never wanted to be. But, I will love you, good and proper, with my heart and body, until the end of my days, Jo. Only let me prove it to you."  
_

_Josephine sat stoically, considering the declaration that Jedediah put forth to her._

_"But what of the girl."_

_"She is away. Imprisoned. Most likely she will be deported."_

_"Are you in contact with her?"_

_"No."_

_"Do not betray me like that again, Jedediah."_

Slowly, she began to explain the details to him. She had entered her home and saw a man and a woman, beggars, from the looks of their rags, standing in her living room. They had rabid looks in their eyes. She tried to escape the house, but a hand had grabbed her and stifled her scream. The woman mentioned Charlie by name. She told them where they could probably find him. They ignored her pleas to leave her unmolested and began gathering items in a bag, 'payment for a debt,' the woman said. The man tried to drag her into another room. She fought, and scratched his eye. He grew angry and back-handed her. She flew headfirst into the door frame and that was all she remembered. She came to when two constables tried to shake her into consciousness. She mentioned that this was not the first occasion - that her home had been broken into a couple of times, minor things taken, though this was the first time she had actually come into contact with them.

Jedediah's henchmen had found the attackers in Whitechapel. Jedediah showed them no mercy during his questioning and as a consequence they were quick to produce a key to her home. And name Charlie.

As fate would have it, Charlie’s dead body was soon after found in an alley outside an opium den in Limehouse.  He had been garotted with such a violent intensity that his head was almost severed from his body. Jedediah, quick to show his cooperation with Charlie's home R Division, which began the missing person investigation, delivered the body to the coroner himself, and stoically stood in the room as Josephine identified the grisly remains.

Josephine buried her husband in a small ceremony, with Jedediah and other police in attendance.

Kneeling before her in her living room in Greenwich, with their past lives behind them, their conjoined future in front, her sparkling eyes upon his bruised face sent a surge of heat through him. He clasped both arms around her tapered waist and pulled her down onto him, until they were both lying stomach to stomach on the rug.

Her legs lay shamefully on either side of him. Bringing their lips together, her tongue sought his. He felt the pressure of her pelvis tipping licentiously against him. He felt a stronger need now.

His hands wandered higher and higher up her legs until he had reached the blessed open-crotch pantaloons, sending a ton of sensations through her. When his hands reached her center it was obvious she wanted him.

“My God, what a wanton little woman you are, Jo,” he breathed.

She pushed herself up, straddling his cock, erect under his trousers. He held onto her hips and watched her as she used him as an object of lust, grinding over and over until the flush rose to her neck and cheeks. As she came, she arched her back and shut her eyes, riding her ecstatic wave. In a moment she stilled and looked down at him.

Leaning down to kiss him, “Come, let us to my bed,” she ordered. “My knees burn.”

“As you command.”

He barely made it up the stairs as he carried her. It took everything in him not to take her there.

“Are you mine to command, Inspector?”

She ushered him into the bedroom, backing up with him until her legs were against the side of the bed. He helped her unbutton his stiff tunic and remove it, tossing it to the floor. One by one, Josephine undid his trouser buttons before moving on to his front-lace drawers, exposing him wholly. He delighted at the feathery sensations of her tousled hair that fell across him as she leaned forward and pushed his trousers down his muscular thighs.

He tremored slightly with anticipation as she slowly, gently, sheathed the tip of his cock with her mouth. He watched her watching him with her lusty eyes. He brought a gentle hand up to her face and stopped her, easing himself out.

Kneeling before her, she watched as he trailed a hand under her thigh towards her ankle. He cupped a heel with one hand, and began to unlace the boot with the other, before carefully pulling it off and placing it on the ground beside him. A hand then slipped up above her knee, underneath her plain cotton drawers, reaching the garter that secured the black stocking. Upon unfastening this contraption, her stocking slowly crept downward, which he then mindfully separated from her foot. He set this leg down, and proceeded to do the same to the other.

Rising before her, he gestured for her to stand, then turned her so her back was to him. He unbuttoned, then gently removed her blouse, goosebumps appearing where her exposed skin met the cold air in the room. He commenced with unhooking and unlacing, removing each familiar layer until he had stripped her bare. Then, turning her around to face him, he caressed her neck and kissed her hungrily. Leaning back onto the bed as he climbed over her, she was ready and waiting for him.

She felt the scrape of his stubble as he tickled her neck and chest with kisses. His hungry mouth found a nipple and sucked in hard. A stabbing sensation ran through her. He flicked the tip with his tongue, cupping that breast with one hand as he kept his full weight off of her with the other.

He made his way down her torso, until he situated himself between her thighs, hands now cupping her buttocks, squeezing and kneading. He licked and flicked her sensitive spot enough to bring her to the cusp, stopping just before. She grabbed hold of his head and begged him to continue.

Ignoring her pleas, he came up over her, and with one single sharp thrust, was inside her, half his length. One more, and Josephine had all of him. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around the small of his back.

He steadied himself inside her for a second, then one more, until he was nearly withdrawn before thrusting again. Jedediah’s body rammed against Josephine, making her cry out.

He drew back and thrust again.

And again.

With each thrust Josephine felt herself near climax. He was lost in her, however, and was single-minded in the taking of her.

She sensed a change in him; a lengthening of his thrusts. Impacts more forceful as he rammed against her, deep inside her. She sensed the quickness of his breathing intensifying as he let out an animalistic grunt with each thrust.

Another and he cried out.

Another and he held himself there, deep inside her, both feeling the intense throbbing of their conjoined flesh.

He ground against Josephine and she pressed up, meeting his movement. The deep, wet heat of his orgasm came at once, then with another thrust another surge hit him.

A few seconds later, Jedediah lay slumped over her.

Finding his breath again, he raised himself on his elbows, eyes fixed upon her  and... pressed.

The sensations she felt were different now as his spent erection ebbed inside of her. Slick and wet where their bodies joined, Jedediah ground his pubic bone against her with a new intensity.

Different sensations burned through her groin. His focus was single-mindedly now about her.

Aware of every response, he was able to anticipate how to push up against her, how a twist, a roll from the side- how it would all affect her.

She pressed up against him, feeling a pulse inside her.

She felt a tightening.

Something building.

Her muscles contracted. Her stomach tensed..

Her legs locked around his waist. She bucked up against him, groaning and gasping. Her orgasm surging within her.

Jedediah watched wickedly as she came underneath him.

Her breathing was ragged, she held her face to his shoulder, holding on for her life. She breathed in his scent, an intoxicating mixture of oakmoss, patchouli, lavender and bergamot, amplified now by his body heat. An English garden in the Orient.

As her breath calmed, he implanted several light kisses on her mouth, her neck, her forehead.

Gently, Jedediah disentangled himself from her and lay down next to her, folding her into his embrace.  

They stayed like this for several moments, before the heat of their exercise began to give way to the chill in the room. The covers beckoned, under which the two lovers remained entwined for the rest of the night, ignoring any notions of hunger. He could not, however, ignore the sharp pain that threatened to tear his head in two. A dose or four of Josephine’s laudanum was enough to get him through til morning, however. It would have to do, because the only thing that would extract him from this woman’s bed that moment would be the coroner.


	4. Chapter 4

Jedediah stirred as a sliver of morning sun kissed his face. A vivid laudanum dream began to float away satisfactorily on an inner sea as he floated to consciousness. 

Somewhere outside a bird screeched. A gentle wind pushed against the window, making the glass crackle ever so slightly. Tiny dust particles danced in the light.

Heavy lids blinked while his eyes drifted around the room. The walls, adorned with a soft wallpaper- peonies, hyacinths, and lilies on a light mauve background- rose up to a high, coffered ceiling. The room was not overly ornate, but it was comfortable and warmed by a small fireplace with a slate-colored mantle. In front of it sat a solitary upholstered chair with an intricately crocheted antimacassar. The four poster bed, draped in silk, was dressed with a soft and heavy green duvet, upon which tiny gold flowers were embroidered. It was the only extravagance in the room.

In the corner was Josephine’s washstand upon which sat the Royal Copenhagen blue fluted ceramic carafe and washbowl. They had been her mother’s. To the right of it was an old walnut chest that contained some of Josephine’s undergarments. On top lay a mother-of-pearl horsehair brush, alongside a daguerrotype inside a shadowbox, which preserved a young Agnethe Laursen Wilde on her wedding day to Josephine’s father, John Joseph Wilde, of Westminster. 

Under the print was a tiny coil of Agnethe’s blonde hair, wrapped in a very narrow, satin black ribbon. The frame was engraved with the words “Not Lost But Gone Before.” She had been taken during a cholera outbreak when Josephine was twelve. Such a precarious time for a young girl, on the cusp of womanhood when her mother passed, Jo had been old enough to know her and old enough to mourn her. 

A jet-black ring sat next to the shadowbox, a coil of brown hair underneath a crystal, which Jedediah assumed was her father’s. It would have been made for her mother, of course, who seemed to never be able to move beyond the state of grief. Josephine had said once that she remembered her mother only ever wearing mourning attire, rivaling Queen Victoria's dedication as she mourned her dear Prince Albert.

He inhaled the calming scent of lavender from some strategically placed sachet in the room. It was a sanctuary for his lover. A place where she could remember herself privately. What a luxury to have this. Jedediah parents were Irish immigrants without a lick of anything to their names. As a boy, he was out on the street more than at home, and as a Metropolitan Police Officer he had followed Glorious Brittania’s orders to serve in Hong Kong for a decade before returning to a city in which he could not help but feel alien. His parents had died while he was away. He was grateful to know where they were buried, for that was more than most had in the East End.

He lifted his head and noticed he was quite alone in Josephine’s little sanctuary. He listened for her. Somewhere in the house he could hear a tinkering, the clattering of ceramics and the muffled thud of shutting wooden cabinets. He guessed she was making breakfast or that wonderful Danish coffee, or both, hopefully. It reminded him that he was famished.

Jedediah sat up slowly, throwing his legs over the side of the bed to face the window. He rode a wave of dizziness and sickness that came over him. Little beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. His heart pounded. He shut his eyes tightly, keeping as still as possible and waited for the nausea to capitulate.

With a groan, he turned to search the bedside table for his timepiece. Half past 8 in the morning. 

He placed it back down with a clatter. Still drowsy, he rubbed his forehead and yawned.

Jedediah went to the window and forced the curtains apart, drenching the room in a bright sunlight. He placed his hands on the sill and looked out. He screwed up his eyes, trying to peer out onto the street below. A bitterness, an old resentment of some generic kind, simmered in his heart as he watched this little part of the city awake. Their smiles, their ignorance, their hypocrisy.

Had those men and women known what he had seen, heard, experienced, not just in the East End, but in the subjugated world yonder, they would not smile so. Jedediah felt these people ostracized him silently, fearing his rough visage, his scarring. They honestly had no idea what scars he had. 

Hardship may cause a man to react in three different ways: a man may emerge with a full conscience, determined to be better, purer, and kindlier. He may be too weak to cope with his experiences and falls into drink, drug, or offs himself. Or, he challenges the world at large and does some bad things, perhaps sometimes worse things than were done to him. Jedediah Shine was under no delusion. He knew what type of man he was. But he had not been through just ordinary hardship.

Jedediah Shine had once been captured and tortured in Hong Kong along with a handful of other Constables at the hands of the Triads. He had been beaten for refusing to kneel before members of the syndicate, he had been denied sleep for weeks before the hallucinations started, he had been starved so long that his now full and supple musculature had at one time atrophied to nothing but bones. But he had watched his comrades miserably succumb to dysentery yet he had survived it. And as recompense, Glorious Brittania awarded him a medal for it. A brassy, official looking bauble with a pretty ribbon.

He had refused to run back to London with his tail between his legs. His bird back home had married another, his parents had passed away, and he was not the same man now anyway. Physically speaking, he was different. The left eye was now permanently scarred from a run-in with a cane. A tattoo now drawn into his right shoulder referred to his captivity, ensuring he would never forget his experience, never forget those who abused him, never forget those he watched die. His face, though filling back out slowly, looked sunken, sinister. He didn’t recognize himself in the mirror in those first weeks post-escape. He simply adapted to his new visage and it became his new normal.

Adorned in vibrant dandy attire, the newly promoted investigator carried out his duties full of brio and cynicism. Life continued with success for Jedediah, but the more he acquired with regard to job or material, the more hollow he had come to feel. It as an emptiness that seemed to devour him from the inside out. It could never be sated.

No man would have faulted him for questioning the reason for their presence in this colony. He lost faith in the “cause,” if there was one, and decided that he would maintain the ruse of the dutiful Queen’s servant, while enjoying alternative, self-serving pursuits. If his pseudo-guanxi pursuits involved minor illegalities or murder, well...

The men of the Hong Kong police force were in general a rough and motley group. Violence was ubiquitous. Jedediah himself existed in a mode of man in extremis, and he found himself fighting to keep this aspect of himself leashed. Later, as head of K Division, Jedediah would sanction violence as a necessity of the job.

“...don’t confuse aggression with ignorance, Sergeants. Clever policing and a little brutality can work wonders when combined. You must always be ready to use it.”

Now, in London, Jedediah faced a different kind of enemy. One that sported a bowler hat, a rod up his arse, and a splash of sanctimonious conceit.

What had Reid given that could equate to Jedediah’s sacrifices? That poncey cripple would never have survived what Jedediah Shine had endured. He would have screamed himself deaf. He would have pissed his civvy pants.

What kind of man takes a role of command and yet has never combatted the enemies of the Empire? What kind of man depends on another to administer justice? Edmund bloody Upright is who.

Only to be felled by a man who had never seen combat, never felt the excruciating sensation of your own body devouring itself from lack of nourishment, or been beaten so low that you question whether or not you are man or dog. 

Memories came to him as a deafening, high-pitched ring, stopping all sense of reality. It filled him with a lachrymose that threatened to overwhelm him. He fought it off with as much willpower as possible, but should he let that demon in the door fully, should he invite it to the table, should he break bread with it...no. He would not. He was too pertinacious a soul to allow it, and yet, like a temptress, it beckoned him to yield body and soul.

Jedediah Shine had fallen. 

Soon he would be gone. Gone to another colonial post fraught with anti-Crown sentiment and no doubt corrupt and evil lawmen. That is surely where he belonged. You cannot let loose a fighting pit bull in the street. You must contain the beast in its natural habitat. So, the beast is to be sent to Belfast where its aggressive tendencies and volatile behavior will be put to great use among the ever growing Irish Republican Brotherhood. 

And he would be swiftly replaced here.

Jedediah exhaled and sat back down on the bed. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and held his head in his hands. 

One day, he would make Edmund Reid kneel before his justice.

His thoughts raced now to the fight. Like a pivotal moment in some Shakespearean tragedy, he replayed the moment that Drake bested him. How could he have not been prepared?

An old Cockney coach once told him, “Shoin, frustra’e a puncher, and ‘e will fall apar’.”

The punchers. Boxers who hit hard with a big punch. It’s a power that is a natural gift. The puncher relies on it. He hits men, and they go down. As Shine fought his way up the boxing ranks, he would hit his opponent hard, and they would go down. 

Once upon a time, Bennett Drake was one of those opponents that went down. This was ten years ago, ten years of titles, victories, adoration. Longer than most boxers saw the ropes. 

Shine had watched Wainwright’s fights, his moves, knew his patterns, his behavior, his tendencies. The boy was strong, but young and lacked confidence. He was mentally weak. It would be so easy. A bloody cake walk.

But all his training dissipated as he watched Earnshaw erase Wainwright’s name from the board. 

After they had touched gloves, Shine went in for the kill. He punched hard. But Drake refused to fall. Shine kept at him, and Drake took it all. Each and every punch.

Then Shine got frustrated and broke first. 

There is Balance, sir, in all things... 

Shine’s knuckles blanched as he gripped the side of the bed. A needling pain was at the door again.

You are fortunate that you remembered your name, who you are, when you gained consciousness.

Fortunate, he smirked. 

He knew that if he fought again, chances were he would lose himself entirely. Would he know peace, then?

Josephine had come upstairs from the kitchen where she had made some breakfast and coffee. She stepped softly to her bedroom door, which stood ajar. She pushed it open, noticing Jedediah’s hunched body sitting with his back to her. His head was lowered. 

The morning sun flooded the room, partially eclipsed by Jedediah’s imposing physical presence. He sat very still, incapacitated, as if his day of judgement had come and that beam of light was God Himself.

Creaking floorboards suddenly announced her presence. Shine’s head cocked to the side.

By God, Jo, leave me be, for a few moments more, he wished to say.

He felt the mattress lurch ever so lightly as she climbed up on the bed. 

She cautiously reached out to him, barely touching him with her fingertips. When he didn’t respond, she came closer. She sat on her knees halfway behind him, her torso in contact with the back of his left arm, and placed her left cheek on the back of his left shoulder. She trailed her right hand up his spine, feeling the bumps of each vertebrae. Her left arm came around the front of him, settling across his chest, feeling relief as he placed a warm hand over it. He cocked his head now towards hers, but kept his eyes downward. Jedediah’s chest was tight. His stomach knotted. They both said not a word. She simply kept her hands on him, yearning to make him feel safe in her arms.


	5. Chapter 5

Bethnal Green, an East End village, famous for its boxers and its criminals. Birthplace of Jedediah Shine.

As a boy, Jedediah would have cut his teeth on narrow, muddy streets, skirting pools of filthy liquid and the carcasses of dogs and cats. Eyes would have watched him greedily through broken window panes, patched up in winter with anything- newspapers, rags, old hats. Not much grass grew in his neck of the woods. The narrow canyons of blackened brick tenements blocked out the sun and all color was leached away except for the dull greys of smoke and soot. Overcrowded housing, constant flooding, bad air, and disease made life miserable here. But there was little profit to be made by improving things. Much of the housing was owned by churchmen and peers of the realm, and they had a vested interest in maintaining the status quo, with profits returning 150 per cent.

Hardly anyone knew who their landlord was in Bethnal Green. These property owners acted through lawyers, themselves shadowy figures, and the whole system was ratified by the Bethnal Green Vestry, a squad of venal councillors who operated as the local authority. These lawyers hired men to assist in the collection of debts and rent, local boxers who, when necessary, could fall back on their physical strength to intimidate and ensure the money was collected. Most of the time, their presence was all that was required to ensure collection. Jedediah's pappy, Malachi Ó Seighin was one such enforcer.

Malachi was an Irish immigrant and soon a typical East End villain. He was a handsome and tall man, proud of his appearance. His black hair was usually slicked back with a dab of Macassar oil and he wore silk cravats (stolen) with a shiny pin. He was a fighter and a drinker and scared of no man living. He may have drunk with every villain that came out of Bethnal Green and he’d fight them too. When he drank he didn’t care what happened. Locals referred to him as “Mad Malachi Ó Seighin.”

Ada Ó Seighin was a young beauty with curly brown hair and green eyes. A quiet woman, she accepted her husband for who he was, but never approved of the means by which he earned the extra money. When Malachi took to drink he might be absent for weeks at a time. Ada was left to her own devices often, but she was a strong woman, and with a neighborhood of other abandoned wives to support her, she found it often easier to live day to day when Malachi was gone. It was this sorority of support that helped her survive four stillborn births. When her fifth baby was born, its screams and cries was an exhilarating change from the crushing silences of the previous four. Jedediah James Ó Seighin was born on a sunny afternoon to a roomful of cooing and doting women.

Jedediah was a beautiful boy with his mother’s brown curls, green eyes framed by defined eyebrows, and long black eyelashes. His mouth had a permanent little upturn on the sides, which gave him a mischievous look, even when his intentions were nothing but holy. Ada loved to walk him in his pram, donated to her by one of her neighbors, past the stalls and shops down Bethnal Green Road. Strangers and friends would come out and greet her, inquire about baby Jedediah. This blessing from God had given her a purpose in life again, and she doted on him with as much love as he gave back to her. Jedediah gave his father something to live for as well. He was a strong toddler. Stronger than any child on his street. Stronger than he should have been considering where that street was. Malachi became a convicted teetotaller soon after Jedediah was born, and tried his best to earn an honest living down at the docks. The money he earned as an enforcer was too good to pass up, however, and in his mind the blood money he earned would be saved to help his family get the hell out of the slum one day.

But, the apple does not fall far from the tree, and in Jedediah's case, that was true.

Fighting was the way of life as a boy in Bethnal Green and Jedediah was no different. He fought with other boys, broke things, got in mischief for the hell of it. He had a devilish streak in him. His mother tried to discipline him, but it was his father who came down the hardest. He never believed that Jedediah showed enough respect, but it was nothing a good leather belt or a smack on the mouth couldn't fix. That boy would learn to respect his father. And, by God, he would soon learn to respect the ways of the East End.

His mother, a devout Catholic, taught him the ten commandments, but his father taught him an eleventh: you don't squeal.

There was a general distrust of the Metropolitan Police in their world, and their neighbors all observed the East End’s code of silence. It was something he carried with him to the present day. Jedediah knew that his father was an enforcer, and knew that it was what got them out of extreme poverty.

He loved how popular and respected his father was. Whenever they went out, costermongers, business owners, churchmen - they all stopped to say hello and remark on how much Jedediah was growing. But there was something stifling about this life. His father was never really free. If someone came calling at 10 PM at night, his father was required to respond. His father always carried with him a sense of paranoia, as if he was being watched. He could not step out of line, he could not show physical weakness, he had to maintain an air of brute force and unwavering loyalty.

His mother always made sure to instill in him the fact that this thieving life of the East End was in no way associated with a respectable life. She insisted that Jedediah take advantage of a new reverend’s fervorous attempts to teach the boys and girls of Bethnal Green literacy and basic math. Jedediah felt like he was being punished, but did it to please his mother. Later in life he realized just how wise and loving she had been to make him do it. Every weekend, Jedediah would button up his threadbare coat, grab a crust of bread, and walk to the church. By 16, Jedediah could read and write.

He spent his days as a restless teenager slaughtering animals on the kill floor within Smithfield Market. Not everyone had the stomach for this duty. This job required that you entered it with a toughness you had learned elsewhere. He was gifted, if this could be considered a gift, with an ability to perform his duties with a clinical detachment. He would sometimes marvel at the musculature of the cattle, their wet noses, thick eyelashes protecting bulging, glossy eyeballs, in which he could sometimes see his own distorted reflection outlined in the convex mirror of the eyes: a dirty Englishman, bloody shirt with rolled up sleeves, leather apron. He imagined himself a kind of madman, a god, empowered over these sentient beings, bringing them to their inevitable demise.

When others would faint or break down from the sites, sounds, and smells of this horrid place, Shine would pick up the slack. This did not go unnoticed by various foremen, who hailed him as a model worker. The noxious smells of the slaughterhouse were something that did not remain outside of him. It did not take long for him to become inured to odors of the market, but the smells were there. They had seeped into his clothes, his skin, his hair. Women, who would approach him for his good looks physically recoiled from him as they came near and caught a whiff of the odor. He was a handsome pariah in his community. His mother refused to hug him until he had lathered himself with castille soap and hot water. Jedediah realized that his growing physical needs would not be sated while he lived this life. He hoped to escape it. But how?

When Jedediah was not routinely slaughtering these poor creatures for the consumption of the masses, he fought. Street brawls, mostly, but local constables began to take notice of the young fighter. On one occasion, they watched him as he and a man exchanged barbs. Then, in a flash, Jedediah delivered the man to the muddy street like a sack of flour. The man’s mates came upon him suddenly, but Jedediah faced them down like a warrior. Impressed, a constable broke up the row and grabbed Jedediah by the collar. Jedediah struggled in the copper’s grasp, narrowing his eyes at him, “You arrest me on what charge! I was attacked!

“Calm down, son. I only wants to talk to ya.” The copper walked Jedediah off the street and into a corner. “Can you read and write, son?” Jedediah stood silent. His father and the streets of Bethnal Green had taught him to keep his mouth shut.

“Answer me, son. Can you read and write?”

“Ye. Why?”

“We could use a good fit lad such as yourself. I ask as we are looking for recruits for the Metropolitan Police, son. Copperin’ is good and proper work. You’ll get a steady paycheck and food on the table. Prospect of travel. What’s your name, lad?”

Jedediah’s mind overflowed with the idea of leaving this place. Leaving the slaughterhouse. When the copper asked him his name, he answered the only way he knew how.

“John Smith.”

“Have you your own teeth? Any physical issues?”

“My teeth are my own. I’m fit, I reckon.” The copper looked at him suspiciously.

“Well, John Smith. Think on what I said. Come by the station house in Bethnal Green tomorrow and ask for a Sergeant Treadles. ‘e will sort you out and get you signed up. Wash that stink off ya, if you can. Meantime, get yourself back ‘ome. Stay outta trouble.”

Rising with the sun, Jedediah washed his face, neck and hands as much as he could. He smelled his shirt and grimaced. He threw on his good pair of shoes and coat, dabbed some of his father’s Macassar oil on his brown curls and ran a comb through his hair. With one final glimpse in the mirror, he left the house and made his way down to the Station House.

He asked for Sergeant Treadles as directed, who gave him a quick look up and down, asked him if he was taller than 5’9”, to which Jedediah nodded, though honestly he knew not. No one had ever asked him before. Then he was subjected to a handful of basic examinations: he was made to demonstrate his ability to read without hesitation, his ability to write 100-200 words from a newspaper to show his spelling capability and a legible script, and then complete three sums in order to show a general arithmetic ability. A brief medical exam followed, where he was proved to have no varicose veins, no impediment of speech, sight, and sound, and no physical defect or disposition to constitutional or hereditary disease or weakness of any kind. He passed all exams easily, and after signing some paperwork, learned where he was to report for basic training.

As he walked out of the station, a bill on the wall advertising a Lafone Cup Boxing championship fight later that night caught his eye. Treadles stood behind him. “

You a boxer, son?”

“No, not a proper one.”

“You like Boxin’?”

“Ye, I reckon.”

“The Metro Police Force has its own Boxing league. We use gloves, like the Queensbury Rules dictate. None a’ dat bare-knuckle hobknobbery. Proper boxin’, it is. You should come to the championship and see for yourself.”

That night, Jedediah sat in the crowd among hundreds of other baying policemen. From the first bell to the last count, Jedediah was hooked. The way the crowd cheered, jeered, and reacted to each and every move... He felt a stirring in him to have that adoration. Here man is in extremis, performing an atavistic rite ... for the mysterious solace of those who can participate only vicariously in such drama: the drama of life in the flesh. Jedediah loved the truth of it, the truth of real courage between two bleeding men.

When he swore the required Oath, where he undertook to serve the Queen and keep and preserve the peace, Jedediah became Police Constable Jedediah Shine.

He just had to break the news to his father. His mother wept with joy. She dreamed of a better life for her son, and he had done it. He had found a way to make a name for himself, a legitimate name for himself. She showered him with hugs and kisses. His father was a harder nut to crack. His father sat still for an age, considering the news, and the consequences of said news. Like many in Bethnal Green, his father had a real and true distrust of the Force. _"What do you call a dead English Policeman? A good start."_

Finally, he asked, "Police, eh? What made you decide this, son? You know that won't go over too well with the lads down at pub."

"I don't want nothing to do with the lads down at pub, dad."

His father slammed his fist on the table at such a response.

Pointing at Jedediah to drive home his point he said, "You have a responsibility to protect the ways things are done here, son. They way they've been done here for years. These streets raised you, son, just as sure as your mother did. You know you are crossing a line by picking that side."

Jedediah nodded. It was all he would give his father in that moment.

"You remember you're Ó Seighin when you're copperin'. You remember all that that name entails down here in Beth'al Green. You remember that."

Jedediah knew what he meant. He knew that to come back here as a Police Officer would bring terrible suspicion onto his father's reputation. It would make him look like a potential police informant. He would never place his mother or father in such a precarious position. But it also meant that he needed to consider the blight his name might have on his own future career as an Ó Seighin of Bethnal Green. He would need to be as keen as he ever was to keep his father's name as separate from his own as possible, at least while he was still a young Constable. His father had raised him well. He was as prepared as he could be for whatever came his way.

He collected some of his toiletries and set off for his basic training. As he walked down those muddy and shitstained streets, he kept his eyes ahead of him. Life would never be the same. He was thrilled.

After a round of physical tests, he was officially a member of the MP Boxing Club. He soon established a reputation of being a formidable opponent. When his opponent wanted to spar; he’d leap on him with a straight blow. He wanted to breathe; Jedediah dashed him into the corner with a drive to the stomach. Jedediah did not waste ten seconds during each round. His natural domination of the ring captured the minds of all who watched. He was more than just strong and skillful, he possessed extraordinary nervous force, superhuman energy that overwhelmed other fighters. In an age and a city in which men, women, and children suffered from bad air, bad food, and bad health, Jedediah was considered the specimen of man that conquered not only opponents, but environments. As a child he was just another impoverished and malnourished child destined for jail or an early grave. As a policeman he found a cause in the fraternal order. It gave him purpose. As a boxer of the MPBC, well, here he was a god. Just the sort of icon newspapers are hungry for. The media would long be an ally of Shine's.

A Police Gazette article describing Jedediah in the ring read more like a love letter than a sports review.

_Sharp-eyed and cocky, 5’11” with not an inch of excess fat. The gaslight above the ring shined down on him and accentuated every dip and protrusion of his bones. As he awaits the time to begin, his broad, muscular frame demand attention. The pectoral muscles are full and well defined, framed at the top by an elegantly curved and protruding clavicle. His wide lats only add to his perfect V shaped figure and slender torso. He frequently rolls his shoulders back to loosen up, and in doing so reveals his impressive back muscles. From his robust traps down to the bottom of his lower back, he looks like a bodybuilder, though not overly so. His impressive lower musculature is perfectly proportioned to his upper body. His thighs are ample and strong, his calves are rounded and beautifully shaped, and where he may stop and stand, he is rooted to the Earth with as much fortitude as an English Oak._

He loved every bit of the adoration and attention that winning brought him. But he didn’t just want to win, he wanted utter domination. This alone would come to define Jedediah Shine to all those who knew him.


	6. Chapter 6

“More coffee?” Josephine held the carafe in front of him.

“Mm,” Jedediah grunted. He pushed his empty cup towards her on the table, which she filled with the dark liquid. Josephine had made a traditional English fry-up. It was exactly what his soul, if there was one, needed.

“No man yet drinks his...coffee blacker...hmmm, doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it?” she asked lightly. Jedediah sopped up some beans with his toast and grinned at her.

“This the Danish coffee?”

She nodded. “Delicious, isn’t it.”

“Quite.”

Josephine giggled to herself. Jedediah looked at her defensively, “Wha’?”

“This.” She pointed back and forth between them. “You and I, having a conversation about something so benign as coffee. I shall not easily get used to this. It’s like we’re playing house. It doesn’t seem real.”

“You’re about to get a huge heapin’ of it, my dear. Is it what you want? To leave here? With me?” He knew she would say yes. He needed to hear it again, however.

She went round the table and lowered herself on his lap. She looked at him, making sure his eyes were on her.

“Jedediah James Shine. I love you with my heart and soul. I don’t care where we go, just as long as I get to lie down next to you at night and wake up next to you come morning.”

His eyes watched her lips as she said the words. He did not deserve her. This he knew. But here she was, loyal to him as she ever was. His ran a hand through her hair and kissed her. “I love you, Jo,” he whispered to her. He felt with a rare certainty, with the morning light illuminating their tender moment, that while they were about to begin a journey into an uncertain future, that she would be by his side. The notion both terrified and excited him. 

*****

Josephine stood at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes while Jedediah sat brooding behind her at the table.

“What will you do with the house?”

“Well, I shall see my lawyer today. I believe I’ll let it. I don’t think I’ll be able to sell it in time.”

“Regular source of income. That’s good.”

“Yes, exactly. And, should we return to London, we’ll have a place.” She smiled back at him over her shoulder. 

*****

The day that Jedediah had scheduled to leave London, it was the foggiest of foggy days. All the better, he thought, since he had no use for sentimentally watching London fade into the distance. He checked his watch. The train would disembark within the hour and Josephine had not yet shown. A small, but needling doubt lay in the bottom of his gut. It developed more verve by the minute. Had she changed her mind?

Then he saw her.

She stood several feet away down the platform conversing with a porter. The mourning black was today replaced with a delightful peacock-teal, A-lined travel skirt and paisley top, a black frock coat with puffed-up sleeves that made most women look like they were in perpetual fright, and a modest hat that topped her loose updo. She looked to the left, then to the right before her eyes found Jedediah. She smiled; It thrilled him. She gestured towards Jedediah, he saw her mouth the words ‘there he is,’ as the porter grabbed her bags and approached him with Josephine alongside.

“Hullo, love,” she greeted him with her bright smile. “I thought I’d never make it. There’s a cabbie strike, evidently.”

She did not get the chance to say more. He grabbed her and kissed her fiercely. Desperately. A rare public display of affection from him. She yielded to him, relaxing into his embrace. The lovers took no notice of those around them who had stopped to look disapprovingly at such an amorous exhibit.

*****

The passenger train’s brakes hissed their release. It began to chug, ever so slowly, then increase steadily as it left station. The couplings clanked. As the train penetrated the fog, it blew its whistle, a forlorn wail in the thick, yellow air. Together, Jedediah and Josephine remained quiet as they left their home city and headed for Liverpool.

“This day would insist on being the foggiest of the year wouldn’t it,” Josephine joked.

“No looking back," he said.

She laid her hand on his arm and squeezed in agreement. “No, my dear," she said, "indeed.”


	7. Chapter 7

The train’s brakes hissed and screeched, announcing its arrival into Custom House Railway Station in Liverpool. Steam billowed out from under the cars and onto the arrival platform, encircling cold patrons. The late afternoon sun had turned the clear sky a vermilion glow. Overhead birds flew from high perch to high perch, brick chimney to brick chimney.

The streets of Liverpool were teeming with the masses. It was London in miniature, regularly penetrated by a swarm of immigrants, mostly Irish, whose population grew with each docking of train and boat. The struggle for life and survival was just as palpable here as it was in the East End, though there was no immediate and obvious Royal presence.

Jedediah extended his hand to help Josephine alight the railway car and onto the platform where a chaotic swarm of weary travellers and beggars surrounded them. They collected their luggage and hailed a cab.

“Red sky at night,” Josephine admired the beautiful sky.

“Sailor’s delight,” Jedediah finished with a smile.

Adjacent to the Salthouse Docks along the Mersey, the cab delivered them to a modest looking hotel with a granite facade and large wooden doors. The lobby was noisy with the sound of bustling visitors and children. An opulent chandelier hung from the high ceiling, flanked by twin grand staircases that curved up to the second floor and beyond. Tropical ferns and palms peppered the opulent crimson and red display, giving the hotel a distinctly modern Victorian feel. Porters waited at strategic points, offering their services to those in need.

Josephine stood back as Jedediah went to the counter and reserved a room. He seemed to be having a discussion about something she could not make out. It occurred to her that they had not discussed how they would handle a situation such as this. An unmarried couple in one room? Many hotels could refuse to allow it.

“I do hope you enjoy your stay, Mr. and Mrs. Shine. Please do let us know if we can be of service. Here are your keys. Our David, behind you, he will take yous to the elevator.”

So there it was. Her question answered. They are to be a married couple.

“May I offer my congratulations on your recent marriage, mam,” the porter nodded his head to her in respect. Josephine nodded and smiled in thanks.

“I am sure yous both will enjoy the honeymoon suite. It is the only room in the hotel with its own water closet. It has both hot and water, and a private toilet room.”

“Oh!” Josephine could not hide her pleasure. She was not sure what to expect outside of London. She looked back at Jedediah, who followed behind quietly a wicked grin on his face.

“You sound like a proper Liverpudlian, you do. Born and raised here, were you?” Josephine was genuinely interested. It was one of her best traits.

The porter blushed, “Yes, mum. Me great-grandad and ma came over from Ireland, they did. But we’ve all been here ever since. I hope the weather cooperates for yous. There’s a nice pathway along the Mersey. How long are yous staying?. Mind your skirt there, mam.”

The porter pushed open the door of the elevator, then the folding gate which revealed a rather large birdcage-looking contraption. It was big enough for all three adults and their luggage.

They all sidled in, Josephine first, then Jedediah, then the porter with the luggage trolley.

Josephine was happy that today’s fashions did not require a bustle or a large petticoat.

The porter shut the door and then the folding gate. And then handling the joysticks, the elevator slowly began its ascent.

“Well, I do not rightly know!” Looking up at Jedediah, “Darling, how long are we staying?”

Jedediah looked down at her, “A few days,” was all he said.

“Well, there you have it! A few days!” Josephine laughed to keep the air light. She knew Jedediah didn’t like people asking his business, even if the intentions were just to be friendly. Honestly, the porter probably asked the same questions to every man and woman who walked through the lobby. She did not share Jedediah’s natural suspicion of folk, but then she was not a Police Inspector. Or perhaps more accurately, she was not born and raised in Bethnal Green.

Upon arrival to the top floor, the porter leveled the elevator to meet the floor flush and then pulled one of the joysticks down. The elevator gave a slight jerk, which caused Josephine to inhale sharply. She felt Jedediah’s arm circle around her waist instinctively.

The porter pushed open the doors to the elevator and grabbed the trolley, turning to pull it backwards into the corridor. As Josephine and Jedediah exited the elevator, he pushed the doors back closed and gestured for them to follow him through the garishly carpeted labyrinth to their room.

“Tea is offered in the main dining room from 6-9. Brekkie, er, breakfast is offered each morning from 5-9.” He directed this to Josephine since she was the friendliest of the two. The porter felt the other was a bit hard around the edges and that was putting it lightly. Typical Londoner, he thought.

“Ta. David, was it?”

“Yes, mum. David Morrison, at your service.” He went to tip his hat and forgot he wasn’t wearing one, causing them both to start giggling. Jedediah’s expression stayed the same. He felt the porter was getting a bit too comfortable.

“So, David, I have always wondered, I’ve always heard the word ‘scouse’ refer to locals here. Does it refer to labskaus? I think there used to be quite a lot of Scandinavians here centuries ago, yes?”

“Yes, mam. I do believe that’s right. There were quite a lot of Vikings that come here from Ireland. Theys all gone now, I believe.”

“Well, my mother was Danish. She used to make a Labskaus with corned beef, onions, mashed potatoes. Quite good!” She turned to Jedediah as she said this, he in turn looked at her with feigned interest.

“Was she now? I say, I thought you had a bit of the North in you! Here we are.”

“Thank Christ,” Jedediah mumbled to himself.

As they entered the room, Josephine took off her hat and surveyed the lodging. The honeymoon suite was a spacious garrett suite that had angled ceiling windows overlooking the dockside. There was a small drawing section, one large bed and a toilet room and water closet combined with running hot and cold water, as promised.

“Here you are. Please do let us know of you’ll be needing anything at all. Congratulations, again!”

Jedediah called to her and asked if she wanted something to drink, she said barley water. He turned to the porter and asked that he send up refreshments.

Josephine came around the bed, smiling, “Well, David, this is indeed a lovely room!  I’m sure we will enjoy our stay here immensely.”

He pressed a few coins in David’s hand, patted him on the arm, and painted on a smile, “you have our thanks, sir. We certainly don't want to keep you.”

Jedediah took off his coat and hung it up. Starting with his tie, he began unbuttoning, loosening, and removing items of clothing until he was just in his pants, shirt and socks. He sat down with a groan, leaning his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. Josephine unbuttoned her own coat and blazer. Hearing the knock on the door, she ran to it.

“The drinks you ordered, mam.”

“Ah yes. Do come in,” Josephine said with a sweep of her arm.

“Shall I place it here, mam?” the waiter asked in his Scouse brogue.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied and reaching inside her reticule handed him a tip.

“Thank you, mam. You will let me know if I can be of service. In any way,” he added while he brazenly looked her up and down.

Before Josephine could say anything, Jedediah came to stand between her and the waiter, ramrod straight.

“Thanks very much,” a gruff came from him as a warning.

The waiter’s eyes widened for a second as he backed up out of the room. Jedediah glared at him stoically and resolutely shut the door on him.

He was tired and his head ached a little from the journey. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, looking into the room at Josephine. Removing her hat had caused some strands to break free from her loose updo in a sexy way, as though the results of something wicked. He loved it when her hair did this. She stood with a wicked grin on her face with a tumbler three fingers full of whiskey in hand. He grinned at her. She crossed the space between them and held the glass to up to him, which he took gladly.

“So, we have three days, eh?”

“I thought it a waste to reserve such a room for one night. I will have the hotel send a telegram to my station informing them of my delay.”

“And what shall we do for these three days, my dear?” she said as she threaded her index fingers between his shirt his suspenders, tugging them up and down towards her person ever so gently.

Josephine took his tumbler and placed it on a nearby table. She methodically pulled each suspender down over his shoulders, leaving them to hang over his hips. “Well,” he responded, “I think I would rather hear your ideas…” She began unbuttoning his shirt, starting from the top and working her way down slowly. He watched her intently, responding instantly. She unbuttoned his pants, pushing his pants and drawers down. He sprang forth.

He picked her up easily and tossed her onto the bed. He took her hips and pulled her down to him.

The next second her skirts were shoved up, her drawers were pulled down with little acknowledgement that they were ever there.

Then he was inside her, hard and thick. The heels of her boots dug into his lower back.

The most delicious, most glorious sensation flooded through her. She felt that she was being pounded by a runaway train.The force of his thrusts flattened her. Josephine cried aloud. How loud she did not know. She did not care.

*****

Josephine leaned back against Jedediah’s chest  in the hot, perfumed water and closed her eyes. She had stolen sips of his whiskey and had begun to feel a delicious warmth flow through her limbs. His hand rested down on her abdomen, gently massaging her navel. She massaged his massive thighs, flanking her, his knees bent, feeling the thick skin and hard muscle, the wiry hairs that dappled them. Jedediah could feel her tiny soft feet settling on his top of his own in the water. He loved being so close to her. He loved how they didn’t have to rush now…

“I don’t think we have ever spent this much time in a bath without having to rush off,” as though reading his mind. “No one knows us here.”

“Except David.” He couldn’t resist.

*****

“Will you be still?”

“Have you a palsy? How much whiskey did you have?”

“Not enough evidently. My God why are you bloody so difficult.”

“Just try not to kill me, will you.”

Josephine sat on a chair behind him, razor held to his cheek. She used her left hand to stretch the skin taut, while running the blade across the skin firmly, but gently.

“You entrusted my cousin Silas for years to do this, did you not?”

“We...we had a business arrangement, he and I, but direct access to my jugular it did not include.”

“I would no more trust that man with anything of value. He was a terrible man. Deserved what he got.”

“Naught so kind as kin,” Jedediah sneered.

“We were indeed blood kin but that is where connection stopped. He was a bloated, entitled, spoiled brat, he was. His avarice was his fatal vice. There was no better man for it. I feared he would take you down with him, Jedediah.”

“He would have never done such a thing to me, Jo. He knew better.”

“Well, I for one am glad you are free of him. I am glad Susan Hart is free of him. You will never convince me that she was with him by choice. A woman like that, she was far too beautiful and intelligent for the likes of him.”

“I did not know you were familiar with her.”

“I knew about her as Long Susan. Many did. I did encounter her once in person.”

"Wha', on Tenter Street? What the bloody hell were you doing in the brothel district?”

“Oh shush, it wasn’t on Tenter Street,” she chided him. “It was at a bookshop. I had picked up a copy of ‘The Bostonians’ and was reading the synopsis when I felt eyes on me...

_“A shallow portrayal of pathetic people caught up in the selfish advancement of their own interests. Unless you’re into that sort of thing…”_

_“Honestly, you read one Henry James, you have read them all, is that not the case?”_

_Quite. I quite like Mark Twain, myself.”_

_“Oh? I’ve never read any of his.”_

_“I find him refreshingly honest, and best of all, humorous. We women need a reason to smile, do we not?_

_“I wholeheartedly agree.”_

_“Here. Read this,” she picked up Life on the Mississippi and handed it to Josephine, “I quite enjoyed this one. I’ve read it a few times.”_

_“I will. Thank you -”_

_“Susan. Susan Hart. Pleasure.”_

_“Josephine Buxton. Pleasure meeting you.”_

“And like that, she was gone. I didn’t realize at the time that she was married to the American doctor who presided at the Leman Street station. Did you know him?”

“I did indeed cross paths with him once or twice. Word has it he once showed up at Duggan’s barber shop expecting to be able to force him to release Hart from her lease. Fool. Duggan showed him how it’s done in London. The American could barely speak for a week, so I’m told.”

Taking a dampened brushed-cotton cloth and wiping the excess shaving cream off his cheeks, Josephine bowed her head, tilted his head back and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Well,” she said, “they are all, each and every one of them, in our past where they belong.”

*****

Jedediah stood in a dark room, he could hear Edmund Reid’s voice, but could not see him. 

_"Murder. Multiple counts."_

Then, out of the blackness an oncoming fist.

His eyes flew open, he gasped for air. He sat up, ran a hand through his hair and tried to catch his breath. He started when he felt Josephine’s hands on his shoulder.

“What is it?” she asked dreamily.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Jedediah said nothing, but got up and crossed the room to where the whiskey sat. He poured himself a drink and sunk it back, wiping his lips with the back of the hand that held the tumbler.

He set the glass down and sat back down on the bed.

“Lie back, Jedediah.” she cooed softly. “Shhh. I'm here.”

He did as he was told. She lowered her face to his torso and kissed his navel. She squeezed his penis gently in her soft palm, progressing up and down in tiny increments.

He gasped softly as one of her knuckles pushed between the cheeks of his arse, gently corkscrewing into him. She laid her cheek on his thigh, her dark hair sprawled across his stomach and inserted all of him into her warm mouth. She laid still with it inside, neither sucking nor licking: just keeping him still. Keeping him safe. 

He spread his legs in response while Josephine stroked his belly with her free hand. He placed a hand on the back of her head. He wanted suddenly to thrust into her, but held back. As she held him in her mouth’s warm protection, she could feel his cock weep in increments. It grew hard against her tongue, and then she began to suck, placidly, almost absentmindedly, as a child might suck its thumb.

Jedediah groaned as his nightmare became an abstract memory.

Moment by moment, she lay on his thigh, milking him, until he finally came. She clamped her lips firm around his cock as he emptied . She swallowed hard, sucked, then swallowed again. He felt her sucking him gently until there was nothing left to suck, until there was no more nightmare left in him.

He woke calmer than he had in so long. Because of her.

She sat at the window, looking out towards the water, in her delicate cotton shift, absentmindedly brushing her long hair. Her back, elegant as a violoncello, was naturally erect and poised. He observed the tiniest goosebumps on her exposed shoulders and arms, evidence of the chill in the room.

An odd notion struck him then. A marital kind of notion immediately stifled by a needling, darkening self-doubt. What had he to offer such a woman now? He was no longer the fighter he once was. He never would be again. He no longer had the power and influence he once had. How long before she see him for the empty shell of a man he had become before she swiftly packed her bags and returned to her home in Greenwich, eager to push their time together into the past?

And when they settled in Belfast, would she expect him to suddenly be home at half past five on the dot every day? She knew the life of a police officer, surely. She had been married to one, after all.

How long before the disappointment settled in? Before the stress of his lifestyle rendered her old and gray from years of neglect and bitter resentment. And like some kind of divine retribution, he would be cursed to watch it happen slowly until his last agonizing breath.

My God, she is perfection personified. She is the light in the darkness. What on Earth was he thinking, in that black heart of his, to invite her along on this new chapter of this penny dreadful that was his life? He should have left without word, without a farewell. He should have left her in London so she could be amongst friends, people she knew.

She would be hurt, then hate him, and then she would forget him.

And he would be free of this self-induced burden.

No. This notion of his is folly. He must do what he can to place the abhorrent thing in a stranglehold and smite it out of his foolish heart.

  
Damn her. Damn that arresting smile of hers as she looks over her shoulder at him now. Damn her warm embrace. Damn her heavenly kiss. Damn his soul. Damn it all.


	8. Chapter 8

Josephine looked into his sad eyes. She cupped his left cheek, tracing the long sideburn down to his jawline and down his neck.

She wondered why he hadn’t brought up the fight. The shadow behind his eyes surely had a tale to tell. His reticence would force her to wait. Any attempt on her part to force him to discuss a topic he possessively hoarded would explode into a chair landing on the other side of the room, a punched hole in a wall, a slammed door crashing nearby pottery to the ground. She had seen it before. She had seen it all before.

His reluctance to talk about anything bothering always manifested into something extreme, often something physical. However, she never became the target of the immensity of his anger. Never had he laid a finger on her even if there was an occasional desire to.

He had grabbed her in a tight hold when she refused to cease lashing out at him. He had walked her backwards to the wall during a fight, establishing his dominance by forcing his will on her. He had walked out and slammed a door so hard it flew off its hinges. He had once even fallen on his knees in submission, after a particularly vitriolic verbal scuffle between them, the result of jealousy and frustration at her insistence of clandestine meetings at various accommodation houses; hugging her waist and burying his face in her skirts, unrelenting in his hold despite her pleas that she must go, until she could do nought but spear her fingers through his hair and yield.

She had known many a mollisher whose villainous lovers treated them atrociously. These women, lacking in self-esteem and self-respect, felt that the touch of glamour these men gave them provided them an identity and a thrill they wouldn’t have otherwise, only to have that villainy eventually and inevitably, sometimes fatally, turn on them. The devastating consequences could be witnessed in the pages of The Star on any given day.

Sure as the day is long Jedediah Shine could be ruthless, shallow, insensitive, self-serving, criminal. To most, the man was all those things. To some he was evil. To others, amoral. Were they one in the same? He seemed not to care. Queen Victoria’s London, in its present state, was more a human awful wonder of God than a paragon of morality and he had days when he wreaked of it.

_She sat on a stool in front of the cheval glass, her naked back to Jedediah, admiring the necklace he had gifted her for her birthday. The opal charm glistened in the dimly lit room. She focused on his reflection, lying in repose on the bed. “He called you amoral.”_

_“Charlie called me amoral?”_

_“It was nothing - he read a review of your last fight in the Police Gazette. He seemed to find the tone of the article a bit too…,” she searched for a word, “celebratory.” Humor danced across her pretty features, but she regretted having brought up Charlie’s name when she saw Jedediah’s scarred eye twitch slightly. "Honestly, what is morality anyway. I wouldn't expect Charlie to have a surfeit of it, whatever it is."_

_“Morality is a… a currency, Jo. The very poor sell it off quickly because it is the only thing of value they possess, and the very rich spend it frivolously because they’ve other commodities with which to replace its value.”_

_“And what of the middle class?”_

_“They’re stuck with it. They don’t want it, necessarily, but neither can they justify its expenditure.”_

_The fire crackled._

_“And what of Jedediah Shine?”_

_“It’s simple, really. On principle, I am loyal to my own best interests, first and foremost. Then I take care of others,” he said as he waved something invisible away._

_Josephine reacted with incredulous laughter. “My God, you are the embodiment of “To thine own self be true.”_

_“I’ve yet to meet anyone who is not.” He rose and came to stand behind her, bending forward to place a kiss in the crook of her neck and shoulder before looking at their reflections. “Even you, my dear.”_

_“I would never make any contrary claims about myself.” She winced inwardly; she was in a room engaged in an illicit affair with an Inspector, wearing a necklace that may or may not have been acquired illegally. “Not to you, anyway.”_

_“That, my dear, is all that matters to me. Now, come back to bed,” he smirked. “ and let me demonstrate to you exactly how amoral I can be.”_

Josephine took her right hand and ever so gently pressed against the outside of his left eye, her forehead creasing with concern.  She frowned a little, her eyes studying every inch of the pattern her fingers traced.

The two stared at each other for a moment.

Her concentrated frown changed; her gaze softened. He held her hand to his face and leaned into it.

“Do you know what I think,” he offered out of the blue, “I think we should get out for a bit. Perhaps a visit to the theatre.”

"Are you feeling up to it?"

"It's been an age since we were on the prowl together, you and I. What do you say?"

She smiled brightly. "I say..." she kissed him on his right eye, "yes," then moved to his left and placed a gentler one on it, "yes," then whispered on his lips, "a thousand times yes, my dear."

*****

Jedediah reserved a cab as he waited for Josephine in the lobby. He cut quite a figure standing in solitude, dressed in his clean shirt, starched collar, a clean paisley waistcoat, silk puff tie and dresscoat. He was a little drunk, standing with hands in pockets looking forlornly toward the street. He sensed her descent on the stairs behind him. Even in his gloomy state, his heart fluttered when his eyes fell upon his lover, as she stopped on the landing and scanned the room for him.

Josephine, a vision in amethyst and delicate cream lace, made a lovely and striking picture. Her beautiful, walnut hair was a bit tighter than her usual Gibson pouf; more elegant, refined. Lifting her skirt as far as she could without compromising her dignity, she descended each step slowly, exposing tiny black lace-up boots with each landing.

He made no attempt to approach her; he let her come to him, for no other reason than to draw out the pleasure of watching her.

He eventually moved towards her, meeting her at the last step. She looked down and brushed at her skirt. Her gaze darted around the room, aware of all eyes on the beautiful London lady.

She self-consciously pushed up her hair on the back of her head, resting her gloved hand over the decolletage. “Do I look alright?”

“Never more beautiful, my dear.” He offered his arm and she took it with a smile.

“I should not have had so much wine. My cheeks are all aflush.”

“You wear it well, my dear. Shall we?”

The ride to the theatre district was bumpy and quick. The hansom’s occupants were rightly jumbled as the cab stopped in front of a local theatre. Josephine looked at Jedediah’s tie and adjusted it, noticing with a overly exaggerated smile that he wore an onyx tiepin she had given him years earlier.

The pair bundled out of the hansom and straightened themselves out; Jedediah distractedly handed the cabbie some amount of money. Brushing off her skirt, Josephine waited for him to take his place alongside her, and like a long-married wife - a long-married wife who needed support - she took his arm as they walked in companionable silence towards the playhouse.

The marquee advertised the night’s performance of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. This was Jedediah's request. Josephine had read all the tragedies, but had never seen them live. Jedediah loathed reading Shakespeare, insisted that it wasn't meant to be read, but seen. He was right, of course. The longer he walked this earth the more he understood the themes in these plays - the avarice, the murder, the insanity. It was life, and when done right, by a good production and excellent actors, it brought him intense satisfaction. Hamlet was his favorite. Lately, it seemed to hold a great amount of relevance to the recent events of his life: a rather abrupt and unnatural change in leadership; the desire for vengeance.... The only difference is that Jedediah wouldn't be racked with indecision. He was a doer. He knew exactly what he needed to do and to whom. 

If the fight taught him anything it was to be patient. To wait. And he would wait. And then when the opportunity arose he would be ready. Retribution would come to Edmund Reid. Jedediah Shine would be the harbinger.

But not tonight.

Jedediah held one of the house double doors open for her as she entered and scouted the seats for their own. Jedediah obliged the usher with their tickets, who then escorted the pair to their seats.  

Jedediah sat sprawled in the seat, to the mild annoyance of the woman beside him, who gathered her skirts away from his leg and boot, as if to suggest she did not appreciate the tall, strange man rudely invading her personal space. If he noticed he ignored her. His eyes were alight with the anticipation of a performance. He loved the theatre.

Jedediah panned the room with a keen eye before settling on his woman next to him who was staring at him with an amused look.

“What is it?”

“You know, you are as complex a soul as ever walked the muddy streets of London, Jedediah Shine.”

He canted his head towards her, “how so?”

“Well, one does not automatically assume a pugilist would love the theatre. I thought you detested the theatrical types.”

He side-eyed her at the term “pugilist” and smirked.

“They can be insufferable, and those that attend likewise,” he said, a bit louder than politeness might normally allow.

“Next thing I know, you’ll be reciting poetry to me.”

“I read poetry.”

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"I can't believe that."

“Yes,” he thought for a moment. “Ah, here is one of my favorites. It’s called “Epitaph. Here lies the amorous Fanny Hicks, -”

Josephine leaned in towards him and looked at him suspiciously, “mmm-hmmm.”

“The scabbard of ten thousand pricks, - “

“Oh, I knew it!” she cried.

“And if you wish to do her honour, / pull out your cock, and piss upon her.”

Josephine let out a loud roar, causing some to turn and look at them.

“You belong in a fucking Penny Gaff, you do, not the bloody fucking theatre.”

Their stifled laughter was mercifully drowned out by the dimming houselights and the audience’s brief welcoming applause.

Josephine hoped that the effects of the wine would fade as the Acts progressed and it may have, had she not fallen headlong into a fit of giggles that wouldn’t quit as Jedediah made sarcastic comments to her under his breath.

The sad production only seemed to exacerbate their already jovial moods. It was truly an insufferable production, from the bad blocking to the melodramatic and possible drunk protagonist who kept forgetting his lines.

Their reaction at the actor’s bloated entrance was simultaneous:

“Bloody hell,” Jedediah observed.

“Oh, Crikey,” Josephine said, with a roll of her eyes.

Finally, when the sad Ophelia advanced through the aisles singing like a child, tossing her sprigs of rosemary, pansies, fennel, columbine, and rue, a few columbine blooms fell into Josephine’s lap, who reflexively grasped them and muttered a “thank you.” Jedediah grinned at Josephine’s awkwardness. Ophelia loitered for a moment next to her, which made Josephine quite uncomfortable.

“I think she needs a cuddle, Jo.”

“I think I shall need more wine.”

They never made it to Act IV.

With many  “I’m afraids,” “I’m terribly sorrys,” and “If you wouldn’t minds,” two nervous-looking managers approached Jedediah, visibly cowering as he stood up to hear them, and asked that he and his wife or escort, or whoever she may be, kindly take their leave.  

*****

Outside the theatre, Josephine made it two steps before Jedediah caught her waist and spun her around. He walked her backward toward the wall in quick, stumbling steps, then pinned her there, pressing the hard length of his body into hers.

“We are truly ugly Londoners, aren’t we, Jedediah? Do you wish to return to the hotel? I can’t imagine you want to go anywhere else with m-”

He bent his head, his breath was warm and soft against the skin of her cheek.

“On the contrary,” he whispered, and she could feel his smile against her skin. “You are extraordinary. You have always been extraordinary. And I would go anywhere with you, my dear.”

She pulled back and looked up at him. There was humor in his eyes, a bright, devilish light that danced and teased. A light she had not seen in so very long.

He pulled back and grabbed her hand. “Come,” he bellowed, a bit of his old self returning,  “let us see what other forms of mischief this town can offer us!”

*****

The Starlight was a glorious former Unitarian church on an off-street which was cobbled and shiny from an earlier shower. Its entrance was covered with huge posters and adorned with tea-garden plaster statues bearing colored lamps. The walls were lined with tarnished mirrors and gilded trellis work.

Its interior was a semi-circle, decorated with old gaudy crimson, plaster, and gilding order.

There was not a capelet, a fan, dress-coat, or satin-gloved finger in the crowded room, and to this Jedediah and Josephine were incredibly relieved.

Josephine had found a toilet in which she could loosen her corset a bit. She sat back in blessed relief as Jedediah returned to the table with a glass of port and a pint of ale.

Jedediah sat down with a groan and peeled off his dress-coat. He removed his tie, placing it on the table, and unbuttoned the collar of his good shirt down a few buttons.

Josephine pulled out two rolled cigarettes and handed one to him, lighting hers with the flame Jedediah provided. Taking a deep drag and exhaling with an exaggerated sigh, “this is more like it,” she said with a grin.

Jedediah scooted closer, stretching one arm along the back of her chair.

Somewhere a piano tune began and the audience launched into a couple of rounds of the chorus from “Covent Garden in the Morning.”

_Cherries so red, strawberries ripe_

_At home, of course, they'll be storming_

_Never mind the abuse, you have the excuse_

_You went to Covent Garden in the morning._

The animated chairman, who sat in solitary at his table by the stage, roared then, “GOOOOOD EVENING! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

“And tonight, ladies and gentlemen, tonight we start the program with the second song in your program, “Oh! The Fairies!”

_Oh! The Faeries_

_Whoa! The Faeries_

_Nothing but Spendour_

_And Feminine gender_

At its capitulation, the chairman toasted the Queen, which brought many a hoot and holler from the men in the crowd.

A local Music Hall queen, Stella Hamilton, was then introduced. She wore a great hat and a bawdy feather boa - quite the vision onstage.

“Oh Blimey, there are an awful lot of my customers ‘ere tonight. How are you, alright? Did you enjoy yourselves last night? I gave your change back, din’t I?”

_It’s the same, the whole world over, it’ sthe poor what gets the blame_

_It’s the rich what gets the pleasure, ain’t it all a bleedin’ shame!_

After four or five refreshment intervals, Jedediah brought his arm around Josephine’s neck as she leaned over in his hold.

Jedediah canted his head down to Josephine, who was languishing in the warmth the port delivered to her. Her long lashes fluttered and her lips broke into smiles often during the performances. Her body shook from occasional convulsive laughter. He wanted to drink her in, consume every part of her.

Perhaps it was the influence of the port, perhaps it was because they were in a place where no one knew them, perhaps it was a morbid curiosity. Seemingly out of the blue she said, “Jedediah, I want to experience something tonight I have never had the opportunity to. I could never do it back home, not with my being married to a police officer, even though he had no such limits on his reputation - "

A line formed across Jedediah’s forehead and interrupted her, “Josephine, an opium den is no place for a woman.”

“Nonsense. Women partake all the time.”

“At home. In the company of other women.”

“Untrue. I read stories all the time of women who frequent opium dens.”

“Not women with class. Those women are weak and depraved and likewise vulnerable to threats around them.”

Josephine glanced left and right, then under the table. "Tell me, where is this woman of class you speak of?"

She recalibrated her argument. “I want to experience it. Just once. With someone who knows what he is doing. Someone I trust. With _you_.”

“I am not familiar with Liverpool, Jo. I wouldn’t know where one was located.”

“One must only find a city’s Chinatown to find one. And I know you better than that.”

“No. That is my final answer.”

*****

Jedediah pulled a bright-knobbed bell, which responded with a single muffled gong, and the door was opened slightly by a Chinese man who smiled and looked in wonder at the Englishman who greeted him in his native Mandarin.

He gave several short bows as he ushered the pair in, shutting the door behind them.

They were confronted with another door, sheeted with iron. In its center a small glazed aperture, through which the pair, in their temporary quarantine, was closely scrutinized.

The porter spoke to the invisible man behind the door, indicating that Jedediah was acceptable and that he spoke Mandarin.

The door opened for them and Jedediah lead Josephine by the hand up wooden stairs onto the first floor.

The front room was set apart for play- there was a long table with a green baize at which sat many Englishmen engaged in their port and Chinese dominoes, cards or mah jong. Women in traditional Chinese garb served these patrons, smiling vacuously as they did so.

They turned and looked at the couple, nodded, then turned to resume their engagement.

An older Chinese woman, seemingly the proprietor, came out to greet Jedediah, bowing as they engaged in a conversation that Josephine did not understand. The woman smiled and nodded, understanding a question he had posed to her, and ushered the pair to yet another door and yet another staircase leading to the second floor opium den.

Another exchange between the woman and Jedediah, then money was passed from hand to hand, and the two were lead on.

Josephine was immediately affronted by the brown smoke. It seemed to want to engulf her,  like some toothless mouth trying to close upon her. A mouth without a body attached. Slightly monstrous it was, and yet she felt no inclination to turn back. The smell was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was sweet and bitter, grotesque and enticing.

There were several small mattresses laid out, with silken brocade and tasseled pillows and ottomans. Dim miniature gaslights with greasy metallic tins behind them cast a jaundiced gloom about the room, shading the individuals who had come here to disappear.

Attendants squatted by some of the mattresses, and administered to the paraphernalia which lay on small trays. Upon the mattresses lay men in strange poses, some sleeping with their chins up to the ceiling, some with dark eyes that glanced up at her from their shadows, not really seeing her, as she walked by.

In the shadows, Josephine could see glimmering little red circles of light, at once bright, then faint, as the burning opium waxed or waned in the bowls of the long pipes.

Most lay silent, but some muttered to themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low, monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then suddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts and paying little heed to the words of his neighbor.

Jedediah walked through the place like he owned it, speaking quietly and respectfully to the proprietor, who finally brought them to their private berth.

In its own section of the floor sat a lavish and exquisite hardwood canopied bed. The large bed partition, which had a small sitting area in front of it made for the attendant, was surrounded by hand carved panels painted in rich golds, oxblood red, and gilt work that allowed air to circulate. The mattress itself was covered with a crimson brocade and several neatly positioned pillows.

“Make yourself comfortable, madam,” she said sweetly to Josephine. “You can stay as long as you like.”

With a smile, she gave way to a slight male attendant who carried in his hands a tray that held a long bamboo pipe, an oil lamp, a bobkin, and a decorative opium box. He beckoned the pair to recline on the bed. The proprietor, satisfied that all were in position, bowed to Jedediah and walked away.

Jedediah took off his coat, shoes and tie and laid them on an adjacent curvy backed chaise lounge.

He looked at Josephine and with his eyes asked her if she was alright, to which she nodded her head and smiled if not a little nervously.

He brushed a few errant locks away from her face and kissed her on the forehead.

“The Chinese call it _ya den_. The Big Smoke,” he said in a hushed tone.

He looked on as Josephine studied the attendant’s ministrations.

“He is known as a pipe master. The quality of the opium is key, but so is the skill of the man who cooks it. It has to be cooked just right, heated at the just the right temperature to render it at the perfect consistency. That consistency reached, the drug will come to life and its aromatic smell will be released.

“Everything here is planned. The lighting, the silence, the colors, the tools on his tray and how they are arranged- it all plays a role to perfect the experience.

“There are even rules of etiquette for smoking opium. Proprietors of these dens will ensure that when you have begun smoking you will not be disturbed or interrupted. It is considered rude to interrupt a smoking session."

The man pierced one of the pea-size balls of tar with the end of a long, blunt needle and suspended it over the flame. The black tar bubbled and swelled, turning brown, tan, then a burnished amber. He skillfully caught it on the end of the terra-cotta pipe bowl, using the needle to stretch it into long strings until it was cooked through properly. He rolled it back into its shape and pushed it quickly, careful to get it to the right consistency- into the bowl.

Josephine’s mind was alight with a thousand thoughts at once. She had brazenly convinced Jedediah to bring her here, to embark on this journey with her, to be her seasoned guide in this new world. Now here they were and her hands wanted desperately to fiddle with something.

Jedediah took the bamboo pipe and held the bowl close to the lamp, the flame licking the sweet spot tenderly.

Josephine noticed that the oil lamp had a charming small decoration that hooked over the lip of the chimney in the shape of a cicada with its wings spread out, giving the impression that the thing had just landed on the lamp at just the right spot to block one’s view of the flame through the glass. Its eyes were tiny garnets that became illuminated by the flame. "Yet another part of the tradition of ensuring a delightful experience," she thought.

She watched as Jedediah took the pipe, placed his mouth against the jadeite mouthpiece as if kissing it, and pulled deeply. He laid down on his side and gestured for another pellet. When it was ready, Josephine took it. Jedediah told her to inhale deeply, once, and then exhale. She took it and mimicked what he did. The first toke was strong, but no effect yet came. Jedediah looked after her as though she were a child.  He reached out to her and told her to recline. After about thirty minutes of this ritual, the warm wave of euphoria came over the pair like a wave. When Josephine felt it, she looked at Jedediah and with wide eyes.

His lips broke slowly into a wolf-like grin. “Let it take you. Yield to it,” she heard his whisper.

And she did. Wholly.

He slowly picked up the opium box and pointed out the inscribed symbols.

“They call this opium box _yen he_ . You see these ideograms here? This is _shou_ for longevity, _fu_ for good fortune, and _hsi_ for happiness."

Her mind was clear, peppered with lightheaded fantasies in which she became obsessed - as though in discovery of some great and undiscovered truth - with the ornately carved panels or the texture of the bamboo pipe in her hand. Her body was saturated by a feeling of the most exquisite sense of well-being...

She could hear chimes somewhere in the distance- was it outside? Or here in the room?

An intense thirst hit her and suddenly a woman materialized holding tea and biscuits. Josephine had a sudden urge to embrace the woman.

Jedediah leaned back on some pillows and watched her. At some point Josephine had removed the pins in her hair, causing the locks to cascade down her back, across her shoulder, and down her bosom. She leaned back on her hands, arching her back and lowering her head behind her before lifting it slowly. Her eyes lazily darting to different points in the bed, settling on the flame of the oil lamp before meeting his gaze. She saw him watching her and with a coquettish smile, moved up to sit next to him on the pillows. His arm snaked around her and she drew her knees up and leaned against him.

She smelled the sweet smell of the opium smoke, Jedediah’s Curzon cologne, the smoke from the Music Hall in his collar, the light Macassar oil in his hair, a bit of sweat on his skin. She caressed his cheek with back of a hand. The stubble felt like tiny shards of wood. He grasped it, turned her palm up to his mouth and tickled with his lips. The tickling sensation caused her to giggle, the sound of which was like a piano being played on his soul, making him smile, making him want to do it more and more.

Jedediah could feel the ghost of an erection beginning to take form. He imagined unclothing his lover, languishing inside Josephine there on the bed, touching each other, massaging each other, tasting each other. It mattered not that people could see them. The depravity of the notion only made him want it more. The effects of the opium made him satisfied to simply remain in repose next to her, however, so instead he cuddled with her, feeling the exquisite texture of her hair and the rough lace on her cuff as though it was the first time he had done so.

When her head felt heavy on his shoulder, and her body felt slack next to him, he told the attendant in the native tongue to prepare more chandu for himself. It would take another pipe to make him sleep, he knew.

Some time later, as the pipe master carefully pulled the pipe from Jedediah’s slack hand, he took his place outside the bed and watched over them as they slumbered, dreaming of Edmund Reid and cicadas with glowing garnet eyes.

*****

It was very early as they rode back to the hotel in the hansom. The sunlight that broke through the cab’s curtain still had its dawn pallor.

Jedediah opened the the door to their room and as she walked inside, Josephine's body ached a little. It felt unfamiliar, heavy, lush in a satiation that she had never experienced before. She was shocked at herself. Shocked and pleased that she had partaken of such beauty. She felt a hint of satisfaction at finally knowing and understanding how she had lost a husband to such a drug. Opium was a dark mistress was always ready, always welcoming- what had he at home but a cold, detached wife who, he knew, loved another?

She cringed a little at the thought.  
  
They took their morning tea as the sun rose higher and came into the room as fractured lines of yellow light. Jedediah read his paper as Josephine wolfed down the toast and tossed back her tea. Outside, she could hear the rumble of carriage wheels and the distant clanging of fog bells.

"Oh my word, but I am tired," she said suddenly.

*****

She heard the clanking of angry bath pipes from inside the toilet room as she stared at herself in the mirror. Her shirt was a bit worse for wear and her face looked dry and tired.

She attempted to undress, but everything seemed to take a bit longer this morning. Jedediah materialized behind her and helped her unlace.

They bathed in silence. Josephine didn’t think of Charlie anymore, but felt a vague sense of loss that she could not shake. Jedediah sat behind her in the bath and washed her hair and back, careful to not be too rough. He knew the familiar morning-after feeling - the viscous feeling of emptiness and slight anxiety. He drew the bath for both of them, not to lead to an amorous session, but to observe her and ensure she did not succumb to the warmth of the water and sleep her way under.

When they were done, she stood as still as a statue as he smoothed the cotton towel over her body, turning when he ordered her to. He brushed his lips across the back of her neck, tasting the lavender water on her skin. He watched as tiny goosebumps appeared on her arms, then wrapped the towel around her. She leaned back into him, feeling the warmth of his sturdy yet tender embrace.

Yawning, they crawled under the covers with mutual cries of relief, smiling and laughing as they clung to each other.

 

  



	9. Chapter 9

Jedediah woke hungry and sluggish, the way one feels when you’ve been in bed all the wrong hours. A fierce ache bloomed behind his left eye like a sunrise of blood. He pushed aside the covers and sat up slowly, gripping his forehead to stave off the pain.

God, the dreams. Opium dreams. So vivid. Cursed.

He looked over at Josephine asleep on her stomach.

He speared his fingers through his curls, now dry and fluffy, and tiptoed along the cold floor to the mirror, careful not to wake her. He studied his left eye, the scars were were healing, but his visage would never look the same.

A hard knuckle boiled in his ribs. A familiar anger.  Jealousy, selfish, dark, and acidic, burned under his skin. With a roll of his shoulders, he acknowledged the emotion and did his best to set it aside.

But the need to hit something, to swing and pound until he saw blood, tore at him. He wanted aching fists and swollen knuckles. He wanted the satisfaction of  hearing bone crunch beneath his blows. He wanted blood.

He needed a smoke. The frequency of his habit had grown over the last weeks. He felt little need to limit himself. He had no fight to prepare for now. Probably never would again. There was nothing to stop him from enjoying his vices now.

Except that he was out of rolling papers.

It was still early enough that the shops would not have been closed down for the evening. Dressing quickly, he placed a light kiss on Josephine’s cheek, “I shall be back soon.”

Jedediah walked the empty side streets seeing no one. He rubbed two fingers at his temple to ease the ache. He cut north, crossed a small park, and strolled into a corner shop to purchase a pair of Abadie tins and the latest paper.

As he exited the shop, he slowed and stopped, leaning casually against a lamp post to roll a cigarette. He lifted his eyes, and for once glanced at the world around him.

All around Shine stirred the bustle of the port city. Boats, hansoms, omnibuses, horses...merchants, women with their purchased goods, sailors, sooty-faced nippers, lonely constables with their truncheons. _A policeman’s lot is solitary,_ he thought to himself.

He stood for what seemed a long time, a visitor in this world. When had he not felt like a visitor anywhere?

Women and men tilted their heads at him in greeting, nonetheless. He did the same.

He turned up the collar of his coat.This was to be their last evening in Liverpool before boarding the ferry to Belfast.

Back home, vigilance was required the moment one stepped foot out the door. A man needed to be constantly alert, keenly aware of who and what was around him. There were pickpockets, footpads, ruffians, and cutthroats about.

He rubbed absently at his temple - some of them waiting in dark alleys, eager to express their displeasure at having spent 6 weeks in gaol. It was the same here. It will be worse in Belfast.

In the distance, fog horns blew, seagulls cawed, there was a faint whistling. He panned the boulevard and settled on a lone figure standing stock still underneath a gaslit pole. A man with a bowler and a soot-colored greatcoat. As Jedediah exhaled a puff of smoke he narrowed his eyes and measured him. In the foggy blur, Shine could not see if the man had his eyes on him.

He steadied himself, opening the paper to read the headlines. A story of a Fenian bombing, a woman’s severed head washing ashore, the circus.

Shine glanced up from the paper. The man was gone. _Mind playing tricks_ , he thought.

Slowly, he detached himself from the lamp post. With ears pricked and eyes focused, made his way back to the hotel.

*****

They were on the tail end of their last supper in Liverpool and Shine had been distracted all evening.

He turned the glass of whiskey in his hands.

Josephine raised an eyebrow. What is it? Something wrong with the whiskey?

Shine shifted in his chair. “It’s fine.”

“I always know when you’re lying.”

Shine grimaced slightly, trying to stave off something.

“How is the pain?”

“A bit savage in its tenacity today.”

“The laudanum?”

“Barely touched it.”

“We shall see a doctor once we are settled in Belfast.”

“Meantime, I shall take this bottle upstairs with me and kiss its bottom good night.” He held up the bottle, “To our last night in Liverpool. Onwards and upwards with the RIC.”

*****

Josephine stood at the window and watched the street below- the gaslights began to turn on as the sun dipped behind the clouds along the horizon. She turned to look at Jedediah, who lay fast asleep on his back, snoring lightly, his arm hanging off the side of the bed. He kept his promise to finish the whiskey bottle, vainly attempted to undress her, and then dipped into the darkness.

An opportunity.

She pulled out a piece of hotel stationery and a pen and began to write.

*****

Whitechapel, 2 days later 

In the dimly lit office on Leman St., Edmund Reid stuck the blade inside the lip of the envelope postmarked Liverpool. Aromatic gardenia wafted out. Inside was a postcard with a woman’s handwriting:

> Embarking to Belfast in the morning. Will write again with address when settled.
> 
>                                                                                             J

Satisfied, he poured himself a drink and sat back down with a groan.

For some time before Jedediah Shine was reprimanded by the Yard and transferred to Belfast, Reid had made vain attempts at gaining potentially useful information from Josephine. Her name was familiar to the men, for various reasons, considering her recent widowhood with a fellow police officer and her scandalously close ties with Jedediah Shine. But least known, and most inspiring to Reid, was her relationship with Flight.

She had strode determinedly into the station one blustery morning, leading a swirl of leaves and rain, requesting most respectfully to see Albert Flight, currently a prisoner of Edmund Reid.

Sgt. Artherton escorted the lady down to the holding area and later noted how the two instantly acknowledged each other in a most familiar way- as though they were family.

Josephine had twice before been perched opposite Reid in his office, her blue eyes fixed earnestly on his, ready to answer any question he placed before her. With a steady and cool demeanor, the apex of grace, she had repeatedly denied any knowledge of Shine’s crimes.

The potential for this woman, the bread crumbs she could lead to a greater discovery, it ate at him. How could he crack the shell - perhaps the Irish spy in his holding cell could be the tie.

*****

_Grabbing a bottle of bourbon and two drams, he descended into the bowels of the Leman Street station to find his ex-detective._

_“Tell me about Ms. Buxton, Flight.”_

_“She is a friend. More than a friend, perhaps. More like a big sister or a mother.”_

_“When did you become acquainted?”_

_“When I was a boy, sir.”_

_“What was Ms. Buxton’s occupation when you met her?”_

_“She was a brothel worker, sir. A bather."_

_“A bather?”_

_‘She bathed paying customers_ _before they were to bed one of the girls. For an extra two shillings she might help them get...ready _._ She was known for a certain skillset that didn't include the actual act itself, if you get my meaning. As a boy I resided and worked there. I was to keep the fires burning, remove dirty sheets, provide the girls with fresh water. Josephine, or Jo, as well called her, and I took to each other immediately. Her mother had been the Madam's favorite. When Jo's mother passed away, Ms. Pearl  took her in, looked after her. She tried to safeguard Jo from laying with men, but an extra body is an extra mouth to feed- she needed to make sure Jo contributed to the house somehow. Some years later, the Madam passed away and left the business to Jo.” _

_“Who was the Madam?”_

_“Ms. Pearl de Vere, sir, of Soho."_

_“She was involved with Shine’s division Inspector at that time, was she not?”_

_“She was. Inspector Pankhurst, sir. His men kept watch over the brothel. While Ms. Pearl was in charge, Pankhurst saw to it that there were no surprise inspections and the business thrived. In return, the boys were allowed access to the women for half price.”_

_“But not Ms. Buxton?”_

_“No, sir. It was well known that Shine was Pankhurst's star pupil. One night he convinced Ms. Pearl to give Josephine to Shine as a...gift. An award for a particular job well done.”_

_"A gift?"_

_"Ms. Jo was a virgin then, sir."_

_Reid barely contained a stunned expression._

_“And this was how Ms. Buxton came to be in Shine’s world?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“So, you say Ms. Buxton became the owner after Ms. Pearl de Vere passed?”_

_“Yes, sir. Not for long. Jo tried to find the girls legitimate jobs, tried to keep them from the workhouses, gave them each a lump sum of cash, and then sold the business.”_

_“What became of you then?”_

_“I was a lost boy. I  stubbornly refused Jo's charity and met up again with Shine by way of arrest. He convinced me that I needed the Police Force, which is when I settled in Bloomsbury for several years before coming here. Jo found me, smacked me over the head, and told me under no uncertain terms that in future I would never, ever be free of her, no matter how hard I tried ." Flight smiled at the memory._

_"And Ms. Buxton and Shine were together then?"_

_"Oh yes, sir. They did not marry, but lived together in a neighborhood that allowed such arrangements."_

  _“Were they together even while he was abroad?”_

_“At first. But then we did not hear from him for over a year. We feared him dead, sir. Ms. Buxton, who was then Ms. Wilde, later sought comfort in another man."  
_

_"Charles Buxton."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_“When Shine returned from Hong Kong, I assume they resumed their relations…”_

_“They did resume their relations, sir but I do not know exactly when nor the circumstances.”_

_Reid took a drink and considered for a moment._

_“Flight, do you believe Shine killed her husband?”_

_“He did not involve me in that murder, sir.”_

_“What does your gut tell you?”_

_“My gut tells me no.”_

_“Truly?”_

_“He enjoyed being the victor, sir. Another man’s wife preferring Shine’s company to the husband’s? Shine relished the idea. Any man would, I suppose. He didn’t feel Charlie was a real threat to him in any way, however.”_

_“But there was an incident, was there not, when two people broke into Ms. Buxton’s house and beat her...the husband showed up dead soon after. Jedediah launched the investigation, but closed it soon after- with no leads whatsoever.”_

_“I know that Jo wanted to divorce Charlie as he was starting to deplete her savings, but Charlie had gone incognito. Lost somewhere in the terraced slums by the river. She was extremely distressed over this fact because as a woman, she had no real recourse. My understanding was that once Charlie’s body was found, Shine closed the case in order to allow her to move forward, allowing her good name to remain in tact. She did not want it publicized that the money she had to her name came from the brothel.”_

_The bourbon drunk, Flight found more words to say._

_“I have no doubt Shine would have done it had someone else not gotten to him first. But, to so brazenly and openly kill a man and leave him in the open? He would never have done something so obvious. So careless. He is more calculating; knows how to cover his tracks. I, personally think a different hand ended Charlie’s life, sir. He had a number of enemies in the end.”_

_“Might it be said that Ms. Buxton had enough reason to end Charlie’s life?”_

_“It might be said, sir, but she abhors violence.”_

_“And yet, her allegiance to Shine- Flight, does it make sense to you?”_

_“Jo used to say to me that Shine was like a feral dog who had been beaten so many times that he could never be domesticated. He was born a Bethnal Green fighter and a Bethnal Green fighter he will always be.  
_

_“Feral dogs will eventually attack the hand that feeds them. It’s not a matter of if, but when. Shine was never violent with her that I saw, but to cross the man is to invite his wrath. I fear Jo’s day will come. And what may induce that wrath - no one can know. The man’s temperament is as capricious as the wind.”_

_An idea began to form in his mind.  Reid may not be able to finish Shine, but he might have a chance to stay ahead of him, beat him at his own game, should he try to return to London._

_*****_

_Pulling alongside Josephine on the  boulevard, Reid swung open the door. She stopped, looked up and down the street, then stepped up into the vehicle._

_She had sat straight-backed, gloved and opposite him in the cab. She had agreed to his request to meet in private, away from the prying eyes of the police station- or anywhere in the East End. She understood that Reid wished to discuss Albert’s release from prison. He had an ulterior motive, however, and hoped he could persuade the woman to comply._ _From her reticule she produced a sheet of paper with a bank account number and a name._

_“As instructed, I have set up an account for Albert. My lawyer, his name here, he will see to it that the money in this account is released to him in full as soon as he is released from prison._

_“There is enough in this account for him to survive on for the next year, as long as he is not careless with it.”_

_“Ms. Buxton, I will willingly act as proxy between you and Flight-”_

_“I am grateful to you, Mr. Reid.”  
_

_“But on one condition.”_

_“Name it, sir.”_

_“In return for his, you will write to me.”_

_‘Write to you?”_

_“Indeed. I wish to receive status reports.”_

_Josephine's forehead crinkled.  
_

_“You, Ms. Buxton, will provide me monthly updates on Jedediah. I cannot control what the Yard does. I cannot control what Shine does. But I am charged with the protection of the people of this parish, and I wish to know if he ever returns here._

_“I want to know when he has arrived in Belfast. If he becomes ill, if he perishes. If he maintains ties here in London. We have a growing resistance of the Crown from the IRB and more and more bombs are going off to voice this opposition. Guns and bombs are being smuggled in by the droves. I must know if Shine becomes entangled in such a lucrative business. And, quite critically, I must know if he intends on returning to London.”  He held up Josephine’s note, “I will do this for you, and in return, you will provide me with the knowledge I require.”_

_She giggled lightly. “Mr. Reid. So we are to engage in a tit for tat? No. I’m sorry. I cannot. I will have to find another way to help Albert. I will not betray Jedediah for you.”_

_Ms. Buxton, if you please. What other option do you have? Jedediah’s long arm reached many, many people in this quarter. By betraying Jedediah Flight betrayed those people. He will not be allowed to simply leave prison and exit London in one piece. I am your safest and only option and you know it.”_

_She stared at him. “I already take a risk by meeting with you, by cooperating with you. This in itself would be perceived as an act of deceit.” Then, sounding defeated, “This was a mistake. I had hoped you had good intentions, but now I know you are no different than the men you wish to incriminate. Selfish and greedy, the lot of you.”_

_“Ms. Buxton, if safety is a concern, I can help…”_

_“What will you do, Mr. Reid, protect me in Belfast all the way from Whitechapel? No. You cannot help me.”_

_“Our mutual affection for Flight binds us in this good endeavor, does it not? Your agreement to send me these reports is not an act of formal concession that Jedediah is guilty on any count.”_

_“But that, Mr. Reid, is exactly how it will be perceived.”_

_“Yet you know in your heart what Jedediah was and is capable of. You remember the crimes I listed- I could see it in your eyes that the manner in which those men died was something you had a familiarity with_ , _that somewhere in your marrow you believed him capable of committing such violence. And that it sickened you. You know what Flight confessed to you - you know he was earnest in his confessions. He wrote them down, Ms. Buxton, officializing them. You may not have had direct knowledge of Shine's crimes, but you had no issue believing Flight because you know the truth.”_

_Josephine stared out of the window. A shadow of discomfort came over her face._

_He pressed, hoping to gain more ground._

_“You remember Blush Pang. Do you know that he threw her to the wolves as soon as she became a liability? Don’t you think he would do the same to you should the whim hit him? Should you cease to be useful to him?”_

_“He’s not like that with me.”_

_“No, not now. However, you fear that he will turn on you one day, don’t you. His beloved Josephine. Why do you protect him when you know he exists solely to serve himself? You fulfill a purpose, Ms. Buxton. For now.  Perhaps he is earnest in his feelings for you now, but what will it take for those feelings to change? One perceived betrayal, or the culmination of many, or a new endeavor he engages in which does not include you?”_

_“Enough, Mr. Reid. Please.”_

_“I will not take your sacrifice lightly. Ms. Buxton.”_

_After several minutes Josephine inhaled deeply and turned her eyes to him, “Seems you have me in an impossible situation, Mr. Reid.”  She looked down at her skirts and straightened them._

_Clearing her throat, “These reports. How do imagine I would get them to you?”_

 

_“You will send me letters- brief, but detailed.”_

_“I will need to have some other address other than Leman Street.” Josephine sounded weak._

_“Of course. Does this mean you concede to help us?” He pulled out a slip of paper and small pencil from his coat and scribbled down a post box number. Josephine read it and placed it in her reticule._

_As she moved through the space to step down out of the cab, she stopped suddenly. The gossamer scent of gardenia met him. Pleading eyes looked back at him,_ _“Mr. Reid, I will consider your proposition. If I agree, you will not forget your end of the bargain?”_

_“Ms. Buxton, please, sit for a moment more. Flight believes you to be a good woman, a conscientious woman. You will not say it, but you don’t have to. I know that you know that Shine’s presence here brings nothing but fear and retribution to the people of this quarter.  It is in the best interest of all that I have the upper hand in this. You can give me this upper hand._

_“I know I ask the impossible of you, I ask you to risk your well-being with the man you love,  but I have dedicated my life to the pursuit of protecting these helpless, hopeless people. I want your help in flushing this evil out for good._

_"I fought to make sure that Flight was not punished for his role in the murders in which he named Shine. He will not be punished further-"_

_"Because there was no evidence pointing to Jedediah."_

_"Because I convinced Chief Inspector Abberline to strongly consider not making an example of the boy. Ruin his name, his reputation. Leave him to the many wolves in the East End. I may not have had physical evidence, but believe me when I say, the whip would have come down one way or another. In more ways than one. You help me help the people of this city, I will allow this issue with Flight to be forgotten, he will be released back into Society, access to the funds you have graciously left him, and  life will return to us all."_

_“Mr. Reid, I will consider it. That is all I can say now."_

Reid turned to face his office window, a dusky purple grid of square glass panes, and leaned back in his chair. He glanced down to study the dram of bourbon in his hands and raised the glass to his lips. He pulled the piece of paper with Josephine’s account information out of a side drawer and studied it. Tomorrow, then, he thought, he would fulfill his promise to the woman. The faint memory of gardenia from the letter still hung in the air like the memory of her pleading eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

Belfast, Ireland 3 years later

*****

“O'Riley! Have you got those reports?” County Inspector Jedediah Shine, held his hand out and snapped his fingers impatiently, all the while focused on a ledger that lay in front of him. ‘Hurry man. I haven’t got all day.” He didn’t. He was supposed to meet with the Chief Inspector to see about more men.

His men were ambushed three times in the last two months; he had requested more. He had begun to wonder if the British Government knew at all what they were doing.

The pressure was getting to him. He was home less and less. Josephine was forced to entertain herself. His headaches were starting to become more savagely painful, higher in frequency.

“Here you are sir.”

“Thank you, Constable.”

He took the files, chewed the coca tablet he had melting on his tongue, and stared down at them.

He stared at nothing for a moment. His head ached something fierce this day..

"That will be all for now, Constable. But don’t go taking lunch; I’ll need you again.”

“Yes sir. “ The words were uttered with a stoicism that had been hard learned by the County Inspector’s Constable. He only hoped it would be worth it in the end and that the promotion that was so often dangled before him would one day really be his.

Shine spent the next few minutes carefully studying the arrest files: two burglaries, two drunk and disorderly and a charge of vandalism; a quiet night by the looks of things. Then he put on his greatcoat and headed out to the front office where O'Riley was waiting.

“Were there any weapons stolen in those burglaries last night?”

“One shotgun, sir. And some kitchen knives,” replied the Constable.

Shine mulled it over for a moment. “Have Sergeant March raid Tamlin’s farm; they might have stashed them there overnight. It’s worth a try at any rate.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shine went to go to the front door, but paused. “That vandalism charge - what was it?”

O'Riley checked his notes. "Young lad, fifteen, painting IRB slogans on the station wall...said he was forced to do it.”

“Have him taught a lesson...a good hiding; make sure to be careful around his kidneys.” Shine had no interest in punching the boy himself. He wanted a real opponent.

“Sir.”

“No Molly coddlin’, son. Just get to it.”

*****

Sir Malcolm Cornwallis, the RIC’s new Inspector General, gazed across his desk at his subordinate. “I’ve been hearing good things about you, Shine. You appear to possess the qualities required for these unfortunate times. I find that some of your colleagues lack the rigour to deal with these Fenians. I am relying on you to ensure my policies are carried out to the letter.”

“Yes sir, thank you.” They were in the office of Cornwallis’ residence, a Georgian pile owned by an absentee landlord who rented it to the British Government. Shine sat back in the armchair, one leg crossed over the other. He gazed down at his ruddy fingers, knuckles rough and worn, and got to the critical matter at hand… “I’ve increased patrols and extended overtime. Is there more word on recruits, sir? Our manpower situation is indeed critical.”

“Fear not, Inspector. In a short while you will have all the men you need; on that you have my word. What we need right now, though, is action. I want more searches- stop them on the street- and raid the farms, you will probably find more bullets than feed there, I suspect. Farmers! I daren’t even use that word to describe them...the level of animal husbandry I’ve seen since my arrival has made me shudder…”

Shine’s mind drifted. _Get to it, you bloated..._

“...don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely sir,” he said, though he hadn’t actually heard the question. “If I may, I will say this: you have my full support in dealing with these criminals, for criminals they are. I shall see to it that my men pull up every paving stone in the district to roust these perpetrators. No quarter will be given. No parlay permitted.”

Cornwallis banged the desk  in approval. “That’s the spirit! I’m giving you carte blanche, Shine. Interrogate the bastards - use those fists I’ve heard so much about to knock some confessions out of them, eh?”

Shine licked his lips at the mention of his boxing skills. Cornwallis rattled the pen and inkwell as he banged down on the desk again for emphasis.

“I know what the thugs can do firsthand. I have seen it. My own son had to be invalided out of the Constabulary because of them - fractured his skull with one of their hurley sticks as he tried to maintain the peace. Animals...a very promising career cut short in its prime.” For a moment the bluster was forgotten. “Poor boy was never the same again...his mother either.” There was a timbre in his voice that hadn’t been there earlier.

“I am dreadful sorry to hear that, sir.”

Cornwallis coughed. Yes, well, quite...I want you to root this vermin out- how you do it, I don’t want to know. If you succeed there will be rewards aplenty, trust me on that.”

*****

Shine sat in the hansom, the back of his head leaning on the back wall. His head felt like a full, throbbing bladder. He could not go to Jerusalem St. yet. There was one more stop he had to make before he felt fit to go home.

He popped a coca tablet and felt it begin to melt on his tongue. As the cab lurched to a stop, he climbed down gingerly, with a groan, and gave the driver a handful of coin.

He looked up at the house before him. Heard the music inside. Put one step in front of the other slowly and pushed toward the double doors of Ms. Caroline’s.

Before him, on a dusty old settee, he saw the Queen of the house. Ms. Caroline was an ungovernable whale of a woman. She sat back, like the Great Eastern returning to dock, but more amply bosomed.

“Ah, Inspector Shine. Come for another go, have you?” her voice rang through the air like a raspy, coarse shrill.

He lumbered up to her, “Aye, madame. Is that Chinky miss about.”

Ms. Caroline’s face became grim. “Inspector, she is indeed about.” He could tell she had something more to say. “Inspector Shine, I do loathe to burden you with this, a fine gentleman such as yourself.” She considered her words carefully. “Only, we've had a slight grievance about the last visit. The bruises, sir. A man of your reputation and strength, well, I know you require a woman with a strong back and a tough skin to satisfy your needs.

“The girl had quite a few bruises after the last visit, sir. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for ten more shillings, sir, if you require Sally to be that woman with a strong back and tough skin.

“And, if I may be so bold, I would mention that there is a house called The Rainbow that may also accommodate that sort of need?”

He glowered at her in annoyance before reaching into his pocket and finding the extra money.

“I am indeed familiar with it, yes,” he said huskily. In truth, he had been expelled from it. Ms. Caroline knew this, of course. Word travels fast among the demimonde, and she had mentioned it knowlingly. Inspector or no, these business owners did not tolerate property abuse. The footman at The Rainbow had not agreed that the Good Inspector should be allowed certain liberties with the women. So, he rowed with the inebriated Cockney, and then unceremoniously tossed the shaggy bugger out into the muddy street.

Soon, Shine heard the padding of light steps descending the grand stairs behind Ms. Caroline. Shine looked up. _Ahhhh, yes. There she is._

“Sally, Inspector Shine has requested your company tonight. Do see to it that he is well satisfied.”

Sally bowed her head demurely. She had beautiful, long, jet-black hair that was pulled up into a chignon. Her eyes were a gorgeous chestnutty brown, canopied with feather light lashes. Her lips were the color of blush.

_Blush._

“Thank you, Ms. Caroline,” Shine said to the Madame, never taking his eyes off of Sally. He followed her up the stairs slowly as Sally prepared herself for the night ahead.

_Monster._

*****

It was 8 o’clock in the morning when a scratch of boot on the front step brought her to attention. She had been working on altering a customer’s dress most of the night. Her hair was disheveled, her glasses sat on the tip of her nose, and her finger tips ached.

She spent many nights like this now.

“There is coffee on the stove, Jedediah,” she remarked flatly.

He disrobed his coat and hung it, pulling at his tie as he moved past her and headed for the kitchen.

She stilled. Her face fell dismally. Like a ghost of old lust and guilt, the scent of cheap perfume trailed after him as he moved past her. Through a veil of tears she pushed the needle through the material and tugged on the thread on the other side, over and over as he slowly poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down, the wooden chair groaning and creaking with his size.

_He hadn't even bothered to clean himself up._

It had been like this, this separation, since she turned down his marriage proposal one year prior. She thought they had been so happy playing house. She had taken on clients who needed alterations. He had established himself as head of the county.

And he had proposed one evening. And she said no. She had not wished to bruise him, but her rejection was indeed injurious. It was more than injurious. It seemed to kill something inside of him. She had spent hours trying to justify her logic to him and it did nothing more than dig the grave deeper.

Marriage was an institution. She was not ready to be part of another institution. She had already spent so much of her life in service to others.

She had pleaded with him that he was always inside of her heart, her mind, her soul; that she was his, always. She would never leave him. She made the choice years ago. They were one person, she had said.

He had stared at her with the eyes of a wounded boy, wounded with the rejection. And that's when something had irrevocably changed.

_“You have broken my heart, Josephine.”_

And she hated herself for it. But she would not deny herself.

In her heart, she refused to live in submission to any man. Ever again. And, ugly truth be told, especially one Jedediah Shine. It would start with the name. When they signed the official register, he would supplant her identity with his own. And the hoary headed males of the courts would stand behind him.

It would start with the name. And that would be the beginning.

No. She was much better off having the ability to leave if she needed to. It never seemed more true than now.

“Long night?”

He released a grunt and silently went to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

And so, her punishment continued.

She was worried about him. It was a hopeless. powerless worry that lingered on her mind when he was around her or not.

What frightened her was the increase in pharmaceuticals. He regularly took morphine now for the pain in his head. And he chewed those coca tablets like they were candy.

When he was home, he got irritated over little things. The ticking of the clocks. The dog barking down the lane. The way he said she looked at him.

He would unconsciously start tapping his foot in a nervous rhythm when things got too quiet, opening and closing his fists tightly as he stared into the fire.

He would be gone for hours.

He was ruder. There was increased profanity.

And the temper. It would almost come to a relief if he would lose it, blow off steam.

It was almost good to see him curse and kick a chair across the floor or slam a door. It meant he might not do it to her.

His paranoia was a constant companion. She would often wake and see him stand at the bedroom window, watching. But for what?

He did not share much about his work with her. She wondered if that was it.

She had stopped picking fights with him simply because she wanted his attention. She feared his wild-eyed rages at her, his fists pounding the table. She feared him in those moments. Because it didn't seem like him. It was more like...like a demon.

How long would this go on?

She thought often of leaving, returning to London. She and Albert were in constant contact now. She still wrote to Inspector Reid those little, informative comments on the back of postcards. She still had a house in Greenwich. She still existed there.

It wasn’t the weather, surely, that kept her here.

It wasn’t the Rescue Society for which she volunteered to help fallen women stay off the streets, though she had grown to enjoy the sorority of support with the foundation and knew herself best when she was there.

It was him.

She was afraid to leave _him_ alone. He didn't cook for himself. He didn't take care of himself like he once did.

But why had he not expelled her for good?

  
There was still love there. She believed that.

Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, she continued her sewing and wondered how long she might still believe that.


	11. Chapter 11

Jedediah hunched over the washbowl and squeezed a sponge saturated with tepid water over his neck and hair, hoping to rid his body of the reek he had no doubt carried into the house.

He sluggishly sopped the sponge up onto the back of his neck, squeezing the liquid out as the sweat and soot plopped into the basin. He was dead on his feet.

He was aware of his breath, the cool water, and the memory of Josephine, busy with her needle and thread, pretending that nothing was amiss as he entered the house at this hour. It was a look that instantly made her 16 again. So careful with him. So many years ago...

His hands began to palsy. He exhaled a wobbly breath, stilling himself as he prepared for the flash. A flash that always preceded the lightning speed of the oncoming train.

His heart began to pound as the familiar electricity from behind his left eye announced itself on a deafening squeal. He reeled. Then with the force of that train, the floor came up to meet him.

Outside the bedroom door, in the great den which was now with sun, Josephine stood at the picture window, gazing out into the still morning. All was quiet. She was thinking. Just thinking. With each drag and puff of smoke thoughts just kept coming. A tricky quagmire of half-thoughts, impressions, and  associations that lead nowhere. Lead nowhere except an abstract notion of the ever-elusive peace. 

She jumped at the sound of a harsh half-stifled yell and a sickening thud. She hesitated for a moment before smashing the cigarette into the ashtray and dashing toward the bedroom.

Confused, she stared at him on the floor for a moment.

“Jedediah? Jedediah! Oh my G-”

Jedediah lay on his side with knees drawn up, sharps breaths and whimpers expelling from him as he prayed to some unknown Force for mercy.

She ran to him, knelt down, placing her hand on his shoulder.

Fighting to keep the panic from her voice, “Jedediah, what is it. Is it pain. Is it your head.”

He gasped desperately. “Please. Please. The pain is-” He let out a low growl, straining to endure the pain. Veins bulged on his neck and forehead.

He kept his eyes closed, not because he didn’t want to see, but because he thought it would hurt too much to open them.

A sharp-toothed creature ate at the backside of his left eye, threatening to kill him.

He grasped the air for something he could not see. Josephine sprang into action. 

Running to the front door and searching his greatcoat, she found the remedy. A folded kidskin pouch with several vials of liquid morphine was found within, along with a syringe. The pouch was tied close with a leather strap, which she assumed he used to tourniquet his arm. Well, she would be using it to tourniquet is arm, leastwise.

She ran back to him, opening the pouch on the bed and prepared the syringe.

“I’m here, Jed. I have your medicine.”

He had already attempted to roll up one sleeve with a shaky hand, but she took over, tying the leather strap as tight as possible.

She searched for a bulging vein and touched it with the wet tip of the syringe. The needle wavered there for a second before she pushed it in. He flinched slightly. She pushed the plunger down as far as it would go, emptying the amber relief into his bloodstream.

Jedediah counted the few seconds before his heart skipped a beat, the familiar herald of the relief he desperately sought. His lids were heavy, but he was finally able to open them. He lay quite still for a few moments, staring at the wall, gravity causing his tears to fall towards his left ear.

Leaving him be, she stood and replaced the syringe in its kidskin encasement, carefully re-folding it and re-affixing the strap.

She sat down on the edge of the bed for a moment, holding onto it, trying to breathe normally so as to not pass out.

“Jo,” her name out on a hoarse whisper.

She knelt beside him again and clasped his clammy hand in hers.

He was in the bed now. He could feel the gloriously cool touch of a wet cotton cloth being dabbed softly against his forehead and cheek. His muscles became lax. He felt the comforting weight of the duvet over his beaten body. His cheek now lay on the soft pillow. Her pillow. Yes. It smelled like her hair. Clean, white linen. A touch of...gardenia. Yes. Gardenia. He wanted to say something to her, something soft, nothing harsh, _I promise,_ but the sound of the door closing softly was the only sound in the room before he descended into the dark unknown.

 


	12. Chapter 12

For months Shine’s division had scoured the villages searching for IRB members, arresting and interrogating as they went with little success.

Now there was another concern. A traitor afoot. All these ambushes. How were these miscreants staying one step ahead?

Sergeant O’Keefe approached Shine’s closed office. He took a breath before knocking.

“Come in,” came the muffled command from within.

Shine stood at the grubby window, looking out at the street below. He was snapping his fingers.

“What is it, Sergeant,” he asked coldly.

“Sir, I’ve got the list of Constables' names and their addresses.”

“Good, good,” Shine sat down at his desk. “Sit, Sergeant,” he commanded, gesturing towards the chair. He pondered for a moment. “We shall have to make an example of a few of them. Pick a few names, interrogate them. Bang ‘em up enough to show bruises. No proper stovings, mind you. Just a few visible bruises. Enough to fright them. We need to find out who their friends are, who their families are, what pubs they frequent. Their families will be interrogated. The women and children.”

“The women _and_ children, sir?”

“What I said. Not one sodden paving stone will be left unturned.

“We shall plant a seed of fear among the men so they turn on each other, you see. That’s when we shall start seeing something. You lot, you Irish folk, you’re...uh... clannish. The only way to penetrate that loyalty is to strike at that which is near and dear to the Fenien heart. Thus families. And churches.”

“Churches.”

“Oh yes, Sergeant. I know how you Irish love your God. Love him enough to use His house to plan the murder of innocent policemen, policemen who are following orders of the Crown. Retribution must be swift and merciless. Limitless.”

O’Keefe took great care not to show his offense with Inspector Shine. He was the subordinate here and he knew that a demotion would be swift should he question the man.

“And when we find our traitor, Sergeant, you will leave him to me.”

“Of course, sir.”

“That will be all, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” O’Keefe turned to go.

“One more thing.” The sergeant stopped and turned. “Look to each post office within the county. Have men search any outgoing or incoming mail. Set apart any suspicious looking bits. Addresses with no names, no return addresses. They are NOT to be posted until our men have searched them, do you understand?”

O’Keefe nodded, “Yes, sir.”

*****

Josephine sat in the middle of a group of women, many of whom were still employed by brothels, instructing them on how to properly manage a needle and thread. So many of these poor girls were stolen away and pushed into this world of prostitution and while she may not be able to help each of them leave this life, she could at least provide them with some skill so that they had a chance to survive.

To leave the street or the brothel for a life of another kind of servitude that might pay less... she knew the conundrum. However, she felt they needed something to fall back on. She would give her former Madame credit in this way. The woman kept her working from morning til night, but by the time Josephine inherited the house, she knew how to manage every aspect of the business.

The girls knew nothing of her private life, with whom she lived, how she came to Belfast. She deflected and tried to keep the focus and conversation on them. At times, it helped them to hear her experiences.

How she remained childless was indeed a curiosity for the girls. Had she, in her worldly experiences in London, found a reliable way to  avoid the man's seed from fertilizing her womb? No. She simply didn't have the ability to conceive. She was married to a man she did not love, in love with a ghost, and had fallen pregnant. She wanted no child with her husband and thus foolishly sought an illegal abortion that butchered her in the process. When she recovered, her parts and pieces simply ceased to operate.

She loved babies and children. But she had no real desire to be a mother. She didn't feel empty. As society would have wanted her to, she did ponder whether or not she was a good woman because of that. Perhaps she didn't have what it took to be a goodly woman. Perhaps this should have bothered her more.

She didn't like to dwell on the past. She had made the conscious choice. If it bothered Jedediah that she never conceived he never let on. It was a relief to her.

Josephine didn't feel empty because she was childless. She had always loved mothering people. She just preferred the adult variety! So, several times a week, to accommodate the controlled schedules of these women, she taught them how to thread the needle, how to knot it, how to baste stitch, whip stitch, blanket stitch, slip stitch, chain stitch, run stitch, back stitch...how to hand sew the ever present shank button.

“Remember, girls, always keep your hem clean and neat. A well-stitched hem can mean the difference between St. Giles and Regent Street- one of many London references that fell deafly flat among these girls, who had never stepped foot in the metropolis.

Sometimes, she would walk the girls through the baking of bread, how to properly cut a leek, and how to make a proper cup of tea. Her preference was coffee, but tea was more widely consumed in these parts.

She covered folding sheets, how to keep their “naughty bits” clean, how to keep a house clean. “Stay away from anything with arsenic, I beg you. There’s been no scientific proof as of yet, but I don’t trust the chemical. I used a pinch here and a pinch there to kill the rats in the brothel- so I’m quite sure we needn’t be handling it every day. In particular, do not apply them to your face, no matter what men tell you will make you look more angelic. You will turn into a true angel of the house if you do, mark my words."

Josephine was not delusional. She knew she could not save them all. And so, the grotesque rubber condom was soon included in her curriculum. Human nature is as it is. The women might as well have some protection from disease and know how to use one. She showed them how to reanimate the dried sheath in water and then, with as much dignity and as little laughter as possible, demonstrated how to apply it and tie it off on the end using...a broom handle, "...though perhaps for an Irishman we'd need a billy club," she'd suggest to a roomful of laughter.

The girls liked Josephine. She was warm and open and compassionate. She knew how to talk to them without the presumption of superiority. She made no profit from spending time with them. Most were Irish, but one, Sally, a beautiful girl from Hong Kong who today sported a swollen lip. It made her sick to see it. A few woman had recently come in with the same affliction.

When Josephine found the right moment she asked Sally to lag behind. She was careful not to push her, however, for she knew that Sally was not her own woman and to anger her Madame would bring a wrath upon the poor girl.

“Sally, did your Madame do this to you?”

“No. An Englishman, ma’am. He beat me.”

“I am so sorry. Sally,” she said. Then after a beat,  “Did anyone do anything to the man?”

“Oh no. We do what that man say.”

“Is he a man of power?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After a moment, “Sally, do you know the man’s name?”

Sally became uncomfortable.

“Sally, you can trust me, you know. You are not the only woman who has come in here with swollen lips and bruises. We do have ways in which we can help that will not hurt you further. If you know his name, you can tell me.”

“He is Inspector Shine, ma’am,” she said inaudibly.

“I’m sorry. Who is it?”

“Inspector Jedediah Shine.

“All these women- he hits the women, ma’am.”

Josephine stared at her dumbly. “The women who came in last week, they all had similar marks- you’re saying they all came by the hand of the same Inspector?”

“Yes. He was forbidden to go back to Rainbow. But, Ms. Caroline, she says he pays too much to turn away.”

Josephine looked faint.

“He always ask for me now. He calls me ‘Blush.’”

“Of course he does,” Josephine said under her breath.

“Ma’am?”

“Forgive me. Tell me, Sally. Do you have bruises anywhere else?”

Sally nodded, ashamed.

“Would you mind showing me?”

*****

Josephine sat in front of the fire, wearing her coat, hat, and gloves and slowly, deliberately smoked her cigarette as she waited for Jedediah to come home. If he came home. It was already 7:00 PM. She would give him another 30 minutes. Then she would be gone. Somewhere. She didn’t care where. She could not live under the same roof anymore. Not after today.

The volunteer in her had shook from the anger she felt that a man could abuse a woman so. She had bruises like this once at the hand of an elephantine pillar of society.

She dealt with him alright. And when it came to hide the body, Constable Jedediah Shine, who had not three days prior taken what was left of her innocence, took her and the body to the old Jewish butcher in Wapping and separated and wrapped the bastard up like meat for Sunday supper. She would never forget that night. New Year’s Eve. She could still see him naked, with nothing but a leather apron on, his back muscles dancing underneath his skin as he raised the hatchet and brought it down with a great force. She could still hear the sound of the hatchet slicing through the air and breaking bone and sinew with a sickening thud.

They had ridden back to Soho and watched the sunrise from the rooftop of the brothel. She began to weep. Not for the ex-”gentleman,” or because she needed sleep, but because she was exhausted from the constant fight. She swore it was the light in her eyes.

He had turned to her then, kissed her tears away, and with the light of the new day reflecting in his brilliant green eyes, had vowed to keep her safe.

_You needn’t worry, girl. No man will ever lay his hands on you again. Ever._

She yearned to feel safe. She never felt safe. Not since Ms. Pearl came out of the fog on the day her mother was buried and took her away. Her father's family denied her, they were nowhere to be found. So she came to live at the brothel.

On that Soho rooftop they were surrounded by the sleepy drone of a sluggish metropolis, just waking from the night’s libations. By the time the city stirred, she had fallen asleep in his arms as they sat looking out over a sea of smoky chimneys.

He had given her hope. Hope that she was worthy to be loved. Hope that not all men would treat her like the sodden cobblestone streets of a St. Giles rookery. And she had flourished, grown into a woman who nearly died from believing  that he was dead, nearly died again from the shock of seeing what she thought was his ghost on the opposite side of Brick Lane years later, and took the proper steps to ensure that her husband was dealt with before he ruined her for good.

Albert Flight had proposed an option to her in a private pub booth. She agreed to it, gave him part of the money- the rest to be paid after the deed- and so he took care of the particulars, hiring a man she did not know to do the job. She wanted to do this without Jedediah's involvement, though she would not have had to ask twice. She wanted no more blood on his hands, not while H Division was after him. When his “Blush Pang” was arrested and deported, she had breathed a sigh of relief and proceeded to forget all about the other woman. They could finally be together.

God damn him.

Oh, the jealousy. How it stabbed. How It needled her. That he did still think of this “Blush,” calling a prostitute with the same complexion by this name! Not even her real name. A moniker that he no doubt gave her.

Just then the door opened, hit her suitcase which sat full in its way. The door jerked suddenly and Jedediah entered, looking around and down to see the obstacle.

He stared at it for a moment before slowly raising his eyes and looking at her.

“What’s this, Jo?” He inquired impatiently.


	13. Chapter 13

Jedediah shut door behind him and leaned against the wall with hands in his pockets. He stood there as if he had all the time in the world. She found it rather infuriating.

“Well?” he prompted her.

“Had I stood in the same spot as Albert Flight did in York Hall, gun in my hand aimed at your bare chest, Sergeant Barton would have ordered the men to stand down, turned his back and I would not have missed.” Her tone was even and sullen.

Jedediah tightened his lips and furrowed his brow in deep concentration. Processing what she just said to him, “You think yourself to be the only one who suffers, Jo? The only one with a cause that each day grows more and more futile?”

"Oh, I know for a fact I’m not the only one who suffers. I also know that my “cause,” such as it is,  is daily thwarted by the very hand of the Good County Inspector Shine.”

He removed his greatcoat, waistcoat and tie and took a seat opposite her in his shirtsleeves. He leaned back in the chair and looked over, ‘Where is this all coming from? This about Flight? Your Albert got what was coming to him-”

“No, you stop right there. You say no more about Albie. You pushed him to do what he did. Bullied him into being your biddable servant. Forced him into witnessing and being an accessory to heinous acts, of which only the likes of you are capable, of which he wanted no part.”

Jedediah leaned forward, a steely seriousness came over him suddenly. “You listen here, girl, your sweet Albie knew exactly what he was doing. He would have been like every other Paddy wretch in those parts had I not found him after he left the brothel house. What he did for me was repayment for a debt. Proper-like. A debt to me, Jo. I helped him. NOT YOU. Me.

“You can honestly sit there and speak to me about his innocence when he proposed the murderin’ of your husband?” He let out a mirthless guffaw. “That is just fascinating. Truly.”

“How did you know-”

“Jo, I knew of his proposal to you because he told me.” He rolled and lit a cigarette. “Then I gave him the name of the man who would do it.”

Josephine lowered her head and pressed on her forehead with two fingers. She released a low chuckle. “Of course. We are all strung along by the Great and Powerful Puppet Master.”

“No. No puppet master, girl. You have your own minds. I simply guide you.”

“Ah. God then.”

“Ha ha. Jo, you can call it what you like. The fact is, you sat on the hospital bed and gave me the permission to look after ye. That’s what I do, you see. I look after those I care about. I make no apologies for that..”

“You think yourself above them.”

“Well, to the citizens of this county I am the law. There is no equality in that nor should there be. I protect them, sometimes from themselves, and in return they defer to me.”

Unable to continue this discussion, Josephine posed a question. “Jedediah, do the prostitutes of your county not warrant your protection? They operate under the legality of the Crown’s laws, do they not?”

He sat silent.

“Yet, these citizens of your county come to me with bruises and fear in their eyes. Fear for the man in charge known as Inspector Jedediah Shine. Yes, I can see by the look on your face you know of what I speak.

“One woman, a dark-haired beauty from the Orient who had so begun to loathe a man with a taste for inflicting abuse, she said. He called her Blush in his fits of passion, she said.

"And then another girl mentioned something similar. Pain and injury inflicted by a former boxer in London." Her eyes searched his.

“And then another in which this man, this kind of Sadist, was,” she smiled as though preparing to deliver a punch line, “an English Inspector with the RIC who had transferred here from London just three years ago.

“Thrown from The Rainbow for drunken and disorderly conduct and assault on a woman. Tsk. Tsk. How very noble and brave of you, Jedediah.

“I lost my innocence to you. I gave it all to you.”

Sarcasm broke from him, “I might be careful tossing the word innocence around-”

His remark was answered by a slap. A slap that she hardly knew she was capable of.

“You bastard! I was 16!”

He gave a wry chuckle, then struck out like a snake, grabbing her wrist swiftly and forcing her to her knees. “You were 30 by the time you were 16. Who in the East End had a childhood? Hm?” He hissed. “At least you had a bloody roof over your head and coal for the fire! Never, ever cry to me of your lost innocence.”

"You have always believed the world at large owed you something because you were born in a slum...that the world should burn because of some great wrong done to you."

Jedediah dropped his hold on her and got up with a sharp exhale, stepping on her skirts as he did so. He placed a hand on the mantle and leaned his head on his arm.

Josephine glanced over her shoulder nervously. Cautiously.

It occurred to her then that this shame, though he would never call it that, he feels about his past is at the root of his disdain for the good inspector of Whitechapel.

With every pronounced "h" and rounded vowel, with every progressive notion of diplomacy and equality, notions alive and well with the upper classes, Inspector Reid attempted to push the dirty scoundrel back into the slum, where he truly belonged.

He could sound like a gentleman when he needed to, but the Cockney boxer in him was always too stubborn; every carelessly neglected "h" would expose him in an instant and he would feel his credibility falter. Such was the way in London these days. You could make someone hate you simply by opening your mouth.

Jedediah was proud of his heritage, and no mistake, and he resented with every cell in his body those that looked down at him in the mud from atop their comfortable perch. But this was his life. And while he accepted it, he would never embrace it.

She understood his fight. Things were different for him - he was a man, first of all, and being a man, he was thrust into this prejudiced world to make his own way. Meanwhile she spent most of her time sheltered in her childhood home and then later in a brothel. There was no misunderstanding who she was. Men didn't come to see her for her accent. They barely even cared to know her name.

All of this did not excuse his recent actions, however. She understood his conflict for years, but now? The stifling small world of London was far away and yet he was intensely struggling. She couldn't understand it.

She wasn't sure anyone could but him. Perhaps not even him.

Besides her own thoughts, Josephine heard nothing but the clock ticking and his heavy breathing. She only ever made him angry. She had stopped trying to figure out why.

“You needn’t be angry with me!” she cried.  “It is you who has made me this way! And do not think to retaliate against those poor wretches you bullied. They have done nothing to deserve your wrath. You believe yourself at war, Jedediah. But that war is not with them.

And it will no longer be with me.”

She got up and set for the door.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

“I am leaving this house, Jedediah. I will take stay in a hotel somewhere and then make my own way back to London. And I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

“No. You will not.”

She stopped at the door and turned, “Jedediah, I would never presume to bark an order at you-”

“You’re not going anywhere.” He advanced towards her.

“- but you have got to cease the assaults. Those women have done you no harm. Even you -”

He grabbed her suddenly, causing her to cry out in shock. He stopped, however, and released her, placing an arm between her and the door.

“You needn’t go,” his voice a low husk.

She fixed her gaze at him. “Yes. I do. I will. And you will let me go, Jedediah.”

He broke eye contact first and grinned sardonically as though he thought to strike her. But instead he slowly receded from her and watched impotently as she stoically stepped across the threshold.

*****

Josephine sat in her chemise and shall, her hairpins hanging from the tangled mass of curls that had hours earlier perched obediently on her crown. Gazing up at the magnificent moon from her window perch in her hotel room, she slowly smoked her cigarette.  

She sat there for hours thinking of him, thinking of all the things they had said to one another, all the words that still needed to be said, until she was chilled to the bone, until the hollowness in her heart was numb. 

She felt utterly adrift.

 

*****

Jedediah leaned in his usual chair facing the fire. His legs sprawled wide. A dram of hard whiskey dangled from his right hand. His eyes wild and hard, staring into the anger of the burning blaze.

Fury burst out of the fire, devouring the wood with a rage and wrath that equaled his own, crackling and spitting as it did so. Smoke released out of its flames and sensually danced around the room trying to dispose all its anger from within.

The flame, that sat in front of its master, flickered like the vicious tongue of a snake poised in hatred and struggling to escape.

Waiting to strike.


	14. Chapter 14

There was darkness.

Then a threatening, thunderous noise. It came closer.

His fingers began to twitch as life slowly seeped back into his sprawled body. He had been languishing in a dreamless oblivion, for what seemed like seconds but was in fact hours.

'Inspector Shine! Inspector Shine, sir! Are you in, sir!' came a voice in the distance.

Jedediah’s eyes fluttered open. He felt the cold, hard wood under his cheek. His mouth tasted evil. The inner surface of his skull behind his left eye pulsed like a single, giant nerve being chewed by some ruminant animal.

He grunted at the sound of his name.

“Inspector Shine, sir!”

Jedediah heard forced entry of a kind. He didn’t care to see to it. He’d much rather lie on the cold floor.

“Sir?” Sergeant Mannion and Constable Pearson came to him in the library. They found him slumped on his stomach in the corner of the room. Several books were ripped from their homes and splayed indecently by his feet. Pages were ripped out and wadded up, as though he’d had words with Tennyson, Rosetti, Shakespeare. The curtains were drawn and the gaslights were on their last round. The tiny sliver of morning sunlight bounced off a shiny metal syringe that lay by his feet. A dram of whiskey on its side, its amber contents bleeding out of it and saturating a spot in the rug on which it lay.

They had never been in the Inspector’s private quarters before. They had begun to wonder if the man had a home.

Surveying the well-furnished house, the men stood agape.

“An inspector’s compensation?” Pearson mouthed to Mannion.

Mannion looked at Pearson. He had never been in the Inspector’s private home. He was just as astonished.

The rugs were authentic Persian. The furniture was well-used, but in extremely good condition.

Ferns and English Ivy were everywhere. All beginning to wilt and wither from thirst. In some corners an unmistakable pungency of dead flowers.

The pictures that hung on the wall were of him and the brunette who the Sergeant knew men were watching currently. He had never called her his wife, yet they clearly lived together and had been together for some time according to prints that hung as a quartet on a wall just above an escritoire.

There was one of a brunette perched on a chair. She had a kind look about her. Large, emotional eyes, and pouty lips. Her nose straight. She looked directly at the Sergeant with a flirtatious smirk. Her bodice tight and narrow, her boots petite and clean. Her hair in a loose bun, the wild locks refusing to be pinned down. She looked very young, child-like, and because of that the picture was slightly unsettling to him. But it was unmistakably this Josephine Buxton who was now at the Royal.

And then one other, of the Inspector in Boxing attire, bare chested and holding up a laughing Josephine like a bride. She brandished a trophy of some kind. They looked...happy. Yes, happy was the only word the Sergeant could think of.

Another of the Inspector and this woman on the street in...London? No. Liverpool, according to the postscript. He sported a mustache instead of the scruffy beard and smirked as he held her tightly by the waist, she smiled wide as if caught in a laugh, with one hand blurred from movement, on her hat to keep it in place.

Another with this woman lying back on a chaise lounge, nose in book, hardly aware of the camera snapping her image, the light dancing off high cheekbones and clavicle.

Then one final daguerreotype, more formal and serious this time. The Inspector as he looks now, full beard and heavy brow, sitting in a chair and she, standing slightly behind him submissively. Their hands clasped on his shoulder. Her cheekbones more prominent, thinner, her eyes still beautiful even if a touch tired.

The furniture was dark, but of good, sturdy quality.

Inside the library were shelves upon shelves of books, piles of books that didn’t have homes yet, and then the ones that saw the worst of the storm, apparently, strewn about the rug

“Inspector?”

“I never took him as much of a reader, Sergeant,” said the Constable to Mannion under his breath.

“Shut it, Constable,” he hissed, pointedly. "I doubt these are his."

They watched as the man’s back expanded and contracted in a frustrated deep breath. “Whut.”

His response was more of a sigh.

“Sir, are you well, sir?”

A grunt. An attempt to move.

“Sir, shall I get you something?”

“Sergeant, you had better have good reason to have barged into my house at this hour.”

This hour? “Apologies for the intrusion, sir. It is half past 10, however. Sir.” He was careful with his tone.

Jedediah inhaled sharply through his nose. Placing two hands on either side of his shoulders, pressed up just enough to be able to turn his head toward the man, though he kept his eyes closed.

“Right.” After a few moments,  “I’m going to need a moment, Sergeant.”

“Are you feeling alright, sir?” The sergeant turned when he heard Constable Pearson stirring in the kitchen.

“Fit as a fucking fiddle.”

“Pardon me, Sergeant.” Pearson breezed past Mannion in the doorway, mindful of the monographic landmines to reach the fallen.

Jedediah heard the placement of a glass next to his head. It bubbled and fizzed.

Pearson cleared his throat. “Sir, hair of the dog just next to you, sir. There’s some alkaline in seltzer and a bit of whiskey. My father used to say, ‘there is no bad whiskey, just some whiskey that is not as good as others.’” He clapped his hand on the Inspector’s shoulders jovially.

“Constable.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get your ponce paw off me.”

Pearson drew his hand back as if the man was on fire and found his place next to the Sergeant.

“Apologies, sir.”

With what seemed great effort, Jedediah slowly turned and twisted his body with as much speed and weightiness as a great steamship.

He took the seltzer in hand and brought it up to his lips, chugging the remedy down in one large gulp. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand and placed the drink back down next to him.

With a few pops and cracks, they watched as the Inspector stood up gingerly, taking in his surroundings while raking a hand through his hair, threading his arms back through his fallen suspenders. He rolled down his sleeves and buttoned them.

“So, Sergeant. What is so pressing that you interrupt my rest this Saturday morning.”

The men looked at each other, silently debating on who would correct him. The ranking officer, Sergeant Mannion, took on the risk. “Sir, it is Monday morning.”

Jedediah stood with his side to them and stared at the wall for what seemed an age.  Nodding his head as he processed the fact.

‘Right.”

‘Sir, it’s Constable Moncrief, sir. He’s not talking, sir. We’ve interrogated each and every man in the division, per your orders. All were earnest in their information. Moncrief, however, he has gone mute.  We wanted to inform you that he is in the bang-up now.”

“Moncrief, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He the, uh, ginger Scotsman with the Irish wife?”

“Yes, sir. That’s him.”

Jedediah grunted.

"Sir, would you like for us to wait for you while you wash up?”

“No. You two wait for me in the hansom.”

*****

“Did you see that woman in the pictures, Sergeant? What a looker. Reckon she’s leaving him? Or does he suspect she's a spy?”

“I couldn’t tell ya. I know nothing about the man. In three years, that was the first time I stepped foot in that house.” He was going to say something more but the clattering of the front door interrupted his train of thought.

Jedediah popped something into his mouth as he stumbled gingerly down his steps and towards the cab.

The men immediately took their places, driving on once the Inspector took his seat.

*****

“Sir, Moncrief is ready for you. He’s in the bang-up now..”

“Good. Good.”

“Shall I ask Sergeant Martin to -”

“No, Constable. I will see to it myself,” he retorted huskily. Jedediah finished off the third cup of coffee and inhaled deeply. Standing up, he rolled his shoulders back and popped his stiff knuckles.

He loved this part.

A scrape of boot on the stone steps leading down to the gaoler woke the Constable up. He had already been roughed up by one of his very own comrades and was now seated, tied to a chair, exhausted, and waiting for the man who came for him now.

Shine stood before him, broad-shouldered and bearded, a primordial violence emanating from his stature.

“You know, word has it you are not all you pretend. That right?” Shine cocked his head and waited for a beat.  “What have you been doing, son?”

The man looked up into Shine’s eerily calm face. Shine saw the beads of sweat fall along a temple.  

“Let us try again. We, each of us, have heard what happened with those two government men being carried off at the hotel the other day. Now. Who’d have known about them being ‘ere? Eh?"

Shine paced around the cell and slowly removed his signet rings. The Constable braced. “Word has it there is a traitor among us. You know what happens to traitors, son? Mm? You a rat?”

Shine sighed in mock disappointment when the boy refused to speak.

Shaking his head slowly, “I am, most displeased, son. Most displeased.”

Shine slowly removed his waistcoat and his puff tie and handed it to a waiting Sergeant. He paced to and fro, all the while watching his boots and rolling up his sleeves as he went back and forth. His full beard was tinged with grey, wiry, curly hair. His hair was immaculately combed back. His sharp eyes, one scarred and permanently swollen, set wide and slanted on the sharp, scarred planes of his face, looked down and then slowly up at the boy.

After a moment, “get upstanding, Constable. Let’s see what a traitor is made of.”

He drove his fist up and connected with a pair of ribs. Bone snapped. Then Moncrief was down with a gurgling cry, his breath high-pitched and panting.

Jedediah signaled for the attending sergeant to hand him his belt, which he then wrapped around the man’s throat, hauling him up in a choking grip.

The Constable kicked, making strangled sounds.

The inspector growled, the sound echoing inhumanly through his throat. “I’ll come for you and your associates. I’ll rip you all apart, one piece at a time...and feed it to you. You don’t want that do you? Eh?”

Letting go suddenly, Shine dropped the Constable to the floor.

“String ‘em up. Let him hang. No medical attention, no drink, no food - under any circumstances. Am I clear?”

Jedediah hiked up the stone steps, grabbing hold of the railing to catch his breath, cautious not to let the others see. His head ached something fierce. He needed to shut the door to his office and gather his wits.

*****

"Sergeant Thomas.”

“Sir.”

“How are the post office checks going.”

“They continue, sir. The Constables have a collection of suspicious articles gathered.”

“I want to see them. Bring them here.”

*****

Jedediah popped a coca tablet and let it begin to melt on his tongue. He rummaged through the bins of letters, packages. Some of the envelopes had smeared ink from precipitation, some of careless handling.

His hand brushed over one postmarked for London. By the looks of the postal code, Whitechapel. A postbox number. Something anonymous.

He opened the envelope and pulled out a postcard. A familiar, faint scent of gardenia made itself known.

He read the brief script.

 

> Sir,
> 
> No change in status. All is well. My deepest gratitude again for A.F.’s address.
> 
> Yours, J

It was her hand. How many postcards had she posted to him while Charlie was alive, arranging meetings in cryptic and vague verbiage.

His hands turned cold. He heard nothing but the blood in his ears for a moment.

“Sergeant!” he bellowed.

Sergeant Morrison immediately appeared at his door.

Tossing the envelope on the desk. “Telegraph our contact in Whitechapel, London. Find out what you can about the resident of this address. I need names, what they do, and why someone from Belfast may be in contact with them.”

“Yes sir!”

He furiously sifted through the bins to find more. He found one other written in her script. A letter posted to Derbyshire. The recipient was nothing more than a single letter “F---”

A newly lit cigarette dangled from his lips. Without hesitation, he sliced through the crease to open the contents.

 

> My dearest Albert,
> 
> Or should I say, "a'yup me duck?!"
> 
> How happy I am to find that you are settled and happy at last. And in Derbyshire! Are you to become a Midlander?
> 
> Belfast has seen a very wicked winter this year. Last Monday morning, we had a heavy fall of snow and in coming to our street on Jerusalem, the roads had to be ploughed to enable us to get through. I came to grow very tired very quickly during the bitter winter, but now that spring has expelled the chill in the air, I begin to feel myself again. Belfast, mercifully, has an abundance of parks. With every flower I pass, with every tree that begins to show their green, I feel my old self returning…
> 
> I have been working with the Belfast Rescue Society, which is an organization dedicated to providing assistance to prostitutes. I have grown to love the girls. They tell me their stories, their horrors, their struggles, their dreams. I can only teach them skill with a needle and thread, cooking, and reading, but I hope that they are benefitting from the attention provided. It fills me with joy to see them smile, for life can be so very dark at times. You and I know this personally, don’t we, my dear.
> 
> I intend to be back in London by the end of the month, a fact that no one knows but you, my dear. I wish to keep this information confidential for as long as possible.
> 
> You shall hear from me once I am back in London. I would love to come to Derby in the early summer.
> 
> Please write no more to Jerusalem St. hereforeward.
> 
> Your friend always,
> 
> J

He read the letter 5 more times until his Sergeant broke through and informed him that Moncrief was finally speaking.

*****

“So, Constable, I hear you have found your words at last.” Jedediah paced before him again, rolling up his sleeves and removing his signet rings..

Panting, and twitching with anxiety, the boy turned a bloody eye up to the man and began to talk. His wife’s brothers were members of IRB. She convinced him to divulge information, which lead to the government officials being taken and them, along with four of Shine’s men, assassinated.

With a satisfied grin, Jedediah clapped the boy on the neck, “I’m proud of you, son. Proud of you for being resilient enough to remain alive long enough to tell me all. Here,” holding out a cigarette, “you probably need this, eh?”

As the boy was about to close his lips over the end, Shine lashed out with a left hook, breaking the boy’s jaw instantly, sending him to the floor with a groan. Shine stood up and surveyed the crumpled body.

A muffled cry came from the man, begging for his brothers to help him, but no one did.

“But, you are a traitor, son. A traitor to these fine men here!” he bellowed while punctuating “men” with a swift kick to the stomach. “A traitor to the Queen!” Another kick. Then, lifting his bent right knee above the man’s head, he lowered his tone, “And a traitor to me.” With that, he brought his boot down hard on the man’s head, silencing the man’s gurgles and moans.

With stunned horror, the witnesses watched the Constable grow silent.

Shine, panting now, stepped out of the cell and looked directly at each of the men. With a look of threatening promise he issued his warning, “Let this be a lesson to all of you. Jedediah Shine does not tolerate deception from any of you. Or anyone."

*****

The Royal 

Josephine inserted her key into the lock and turned it, noticing with a rush of confusion that the door was unlocked.

She pushed the door open and walked in. There on the bed in front of her, she saw something. An opened postcard that she had mailed to Reid in the past week.

Her hands turned clammy.

The door behind her groaned shut and and clattered with a key that turned in its lock.

Josephine turned.

“How do, Jo.”


	15. Chapter 15

Jedediah clutched the top of his walking stick like a cudgel as he watched the back of her petite frame stiffen then twirl to face him. Even in the face of confusion and fear, she carried with her the grace, confidence and bold defiance of a monarch whose claim to the throne came by virtue of having personally pried its original occupant off with a sword.

Indeed, Jedediah mused, had Steady Ed not seen to it that his East End kingdom been extinguished, with Josephine’s husband out of the way she would have picked up her sooty-hemmed skirts and gracefully climbed up one craggy pile of iron, brick, and rotting flesh at a time to take her rightful place at the top of the shitheap next to him. His Queen of the East End.

Seeing her thus made him pretend not to want to shift his weight. He had a task at hand after all. Finding that damned letter was like an unexpected shove. The sort one had a masculine obligation to take care of.

No easy task that. Not in the moment.

No. In the moment he wanted to pick up the diminutive beauty and slap her senseless, then find out who the son of a bitch was who thinks he has the right to fuck what is his, beat him, then kill him. Yes. Now that would be a happy thing.

“Why are you come, Jedediah? Why steal into my private room?” Her tone was barely a whisper.

Jedediah placed his walking stick against the wall and slowly came towards her. She jumped in response, reaching into her sleeve for her small dagger, which she pointed at him, uselessly.

He grabbed her, turning her so that they both faced the postcard on the bed. His arms snaked around her waist, he brought her back close to him with a hold that was both strong and tender.

“I recall, back in London, my Jo would write to me the most licentious notes, written in a shorthand that only we understood. Do you remember, my dear?”

“Yes,” she said as a tear fell. “I remember.”

“I would breathe in the smell of gardenia and my blood would rage until at last I could see you.” He pressed himself against her backside. She was lifted awkwardly, almost painfully, off the ground. “I was like a feral dog, suddenly trained to stand at attention as soon as I inhaled that perfume. I could lift a horse in that moment. I felt unstoppable.”

He brought a hand up over her bosom and around her neck. His touch was gentle, loving; Josephine trembled like a leaf to her core because of it. He brought his lips down to her skin, tickling her as he spoke.

“I have eyes at the Post Offices, Jo. We watch for suspicious mail coming and going. This one was flagged. When the familiar scent wafted up my nose in my office, why,” he let out a deep chuckle, “ before I even read it I felt the old feeling. Only to discover that it wasn’t meant for Ol' Jedediah.” He gripped her firmly, she reached up to clutch at his hand around her throat. The dagger falling to the floor in a clatter. “Do you meet another lover, Jo. Hm? Have you replaced me in your heart?”

“Jedediah, please loosen your grip on me,” she struggled.

“Tell me.”

“There is no lover, Jed.”

“Who is it to.”

“A solicitor. He-”

“In Whitechapel?”

‘Yes-”

“Which solicitor, Jo?”

“A Sir George Lewis.”

“In Whitechapel.”

“Yes.”

“Using a post office box?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Who is ‘A.F.’”

When Josephine did not respond immediately, he warned huskily, “Jo, I grow tired of having to ask so many questions. You will tell me everything about this note. And you will tell me now. Am I understood?”

Jedediah felt her swallow hard under his grip, “It is Albert Flight, Jedediah. The solicitor provided me Albert Flight’s address. There is...nothing more to know about the postcard. I swear it!”

His grip slackened.

He turned her to face him and placed a hand on her cheek gently wiping her tears as he studied her face.

He was looking for answers. She knew that if she spilled the entire truth, she was 100% sure she would be leaving this room feet first.

Using a tone the way he might to a child, “Jo, you know my feelings about a certain Ed Reid of Whitechapel. The man tried with all his might to take each and every measured success of mine away from me. He couldn't have three, however. First. He couldn’t have my life. The Good Sgt. Drake saw to that. Second. He couldn’t have my fortune.”

Jedediah kissed her forehead, then rested his on hers. She could feel his breath on her lips as he spoke.

“I thought for a brief moment today that he had somehow gotten to my Jo, you see.

“If he had gotten his ponce paws on my Josephine, well...”

“I had these imaginings of you and he…”

Her heart was in her throat.

He stopped his train of thought, separated himself from her and turned.

“Gather your frocks and particulars.”

She felt confused. “What?”

Jedediah walked over to his walking stick and picked it up. “I said," he said quite sternly this time, "‘gather your frocks and particulars.’ I’m taking you home.”

Josephine glowered at Jedediah with a stunned expression for a moment, until the THWACK! of the stick on the nearby table made her jump to action.


	16. Chapter 16

"Come on, Jo, I grow old waiting,” Jedediah smiled down at her, his lips spreading beneath his full beard. It was not a cheerful smile. It wasn’t even a friendly smile. It was the smile a misbehaving daughter might receive from her very put-out father in public.

Well, that daughter happened to be quite put-out as well.

The Constables stirred nervously pretending not to notice the domestic squabble currently occurring between their boss and his companion in the middle of town.

The fear she had felt just moments earlier had quickly dissolved into relief after she realized he didn’t know anything more about her correspondences with Reid.  

At this moment, however, all she felt was fury as she stepped onto the sidewalk and watched Shine’s men jump into formation. He expected the same behavior from her: to be a biddable subject, doing his bidding at the snap of his fingers.

“The lady’s coffer is secure, sir. If you need a minute -”

“No, thank you Constable. The lady and I are ready.”

“Of course, sir.”

Josephine would not look the Constable in the eye for the sheer humiliation she felt at having been treated like an insolent child by Jedediah, who she could tell felt he at least had the decency to scold her behind a locked door.

Yes, how very decent of the dog.

How she’d like to take a leather strap to that foul dog.

Jedediah opened the door and offered her his arm.

She glowered at it.

He didn’t comment but spoke to the driver briefly, then climbed in after her.

The carriage started with a soft jolt and Josephine refused to look at Jedediah, who sat like a statue across from her, one hand on the top of his walking stick, the other on the seat next to him. His face largely invisible in shadow. Studying her.

Her curls, her cheekbones, her lips, her eyes all lent her an air of angelic innocence, but that was an impression otherwise wholly undeserved at the moment, he felt.

She refused to look at him at first, choosing instead to half-stare at the lantern that dangled in view outside the window. But when the weight and intensity of his gaze became too much she turned her gaze and cocked her head at him.

“If you think to unnerve me by staring at me for the whole of our trip, you are bound for disappointment, Jedediah Shine.”

He rather doubted she’d have mentioned his staring if it didn’t unnerve her. To test his theory, he sat back against the thin cushions of the bench and went right on staring.

She folded her arms across her chest and stared right back.

She had knackers, his Jo, tiny as she was.

He watched as the angelic Anglo-Saxon softness of her face transformed into a cunning and lethal Viking princess. Her eyes were devoid of any emotion, but an unsettling shadow had fallen over them.  And unnaturally calm. Like the eerie quiet before a storm.

He wanted to haul her onto his lap, he did. However, her claws were fully extended and he might not survive the experience with both eyes in tact.

“I have neglected you this last year. I know this. For that there is no excuse.” Jedediah picked at an imaginary thread on his pants as he said this.

“So, you plan to make up for it by more intimidation attempts,--”

“I plan to see things right between us once more.”

“You plan to see to it that my cunny is not conjoined with another man's cock, particularly that of a Whitechapel Inspector, by locking me up like some bird in a cage.” There wasn’t a trace of anger or fear in her voice. It was low and steady and, like the rest of her, perfectly calm.

She rolled her eyes and half stood in the hansom to knock on the ceiling. “No. It is pointless what you do. I am leaving town, Jedediah. I wish to return to London, to be alone, where I won’t be treated like some unwanted--” she ended her statement awkwardly when he leaned forward and caught her fist before it could connect.

“Sit down.”

She went utterly still but for a gentle sway in time with the rolling hansom.

“Let go of me, please,” she said quietly.

He wasn’t sure why he felt like a brute all of a sudden. Her hand was small and fragile in his. He released it with more care than was probably necessary.

“Take your seat, Jo. We’re almost home.”

She sat down slowly and with a subdued air about her that he found as unsettling as the shadow in her gaze.

The hansom came to an abrupt stop. Jedediah threw open the door and hopped down gingerly onto the slick ground, then turned and offered Josephine his hand.

She hesitated, then took the offering.

“Sir, I’ll carry the lady’s coffer inside,” a ready policeman said.

When Josephine emerged from the cab she saw two Constables standing guard in front of her house.

She stopped abruptly. Jedediah gently grabbed her elbow to move her along.

“Come along, now.”

Josephine marched slowly towards what used to be her front door, now flanked by two guards. Jedediah felt her tense.

“We now have guards for precautionary measures. They stand watch all day and night. There are two in the back likewise. Put the coffer in the back bedroom, please, Constable.”

“Yes, sir.”

Josephine removed her gloves and hat and surveyed the front room and hearth. It all looked exactly as she had left it just a few days before.

She began to unbutton her frock coat as she walked into the kitchen and checked the larder. Of course there was nothing. Moldy bread and cheese sat untouched. Brown, brittle flowers stood stiffly in their vase in the lace-curtained window.

Jedediah stood on his walking stick in front of the hearth. “Do you wish me to light the fire, Jo?” He received no answer except the loud, exaggerated clanging of a kettle being filled with water and then loudly tossed onto the stovetop.

The Constables pretended not to notice.

Jedediah turned his head but did not look at the men. “That will be all, sirs. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir,” they called at once and returned to the hansom.

He watched as she walked to the bedroom, ignoring him.

He limped to where she was. The damp had made his joints ache something fierce this day and so it was no easy task.

Leaning against the doorframe, he could hear her stirring in the bathroom, sniffing and blowing her nose.

Emerging with puffy eyes and a red nose she stopped when she saw him. “What,” she asked defensively.

“I wish to know if you would like for me to light the fire. Are you cold.”

“I don’t give a toss what you do.”

“You’ve put the kettle on.”

“Well, there’s nothing to eat in this bloody house. You bring me here against my will, into a house with no food in its larder that's fit for eating, and don’t even bloody think  to ask me if I’ve had my supper yet. Yes, I’ve put the bloody kettle on because all’s there is to consume in this pit is bloody fucking tea, idn’nit. Unless you like green eggs, green bread, and green cheese, that is. I hear it’s all the rage with big-fisted, pig-headed, mutton shunters these days.”

Knackers. That’s what she had.

He turned abruptly and went to light some kindling in the fireplace, tossing and jabbing more forcefully than was needed.

God damnit, woman, he thought. Fucking moldy bread. Of course he didn’t think to get any food. He left all domestic matters to her, didn’t he. He just wasn’t going to have her leaving him for London. Not for no other man. He didn’t think about food once he got her back here. He just thought to get her back home.

He tossed down the poker with a clatter.

The kettle screamed. He limped over and shoved it off the heat.

“What in God’s name…” came Josephine’s voice from behind him.

As a young teenager, Josephine owed much of her survival to her love of reading. Her books didn’t offer real escape, of course, but it stopped her mind from scratching itself raw most of the time.

Her favorite time of night was when she was able to shut out the world, curl up in her blanket, and by the sputtering light of a solitary candle, able to consume as much Austen, Wordsworth, or Dickens as she could.

Books loved anyone who opened them, they gave you security and friendship and didn't ask anything in return; they never went away, never, not even when you treated them badly.

They were each a precious memory for her. When she opened them up she smelled a different time in her life. A different city, a different type of bustle, a different street on which she lived, a different reality.Even Jedediah, who never read a book in his life bought her several and in so many inscribed words of love and devotion - how many of those did she cling to at night when he was in Hong Kong, when she thought he was…

When they had moved to Belfast he found this house for her because of this library. Because of the built-in shelves. From floor to ceiling she could finally give her books a proper place to live. And she had spent happy days embossing them with her personalized bookplates and shelving them according to author, genre, and some other vague subject matter category that Jedediah remembered her trying to explain was “autobiographical” with regard to the item itself, but he was never quite sure what she meant by that.

Some books she’d had since she was ten. The youngest acquired just a month ago. Some of them were leatherbound, some penny dreadfuls, though none less loved. Some were given by her mother, some by a prostitute, long-dead, many, many were given to her by Jedediah Shine.

A man soon learns how to make his woman happy if he wants to keep getting what he wants from her and Jedediah, being one of the quicker-witted chaps on the lane, knew that Josephine was not one for roses, candy, or unlike him, public displays of anything. What she loved more than anything was a book and a private room in which to read said book. She enjoyed the company of others, but it was true that often and usually there came a time, no matter whom she was with, be it a loved one or a stranger, in which she preferred to be alone and read.

Her library was her secret garden and it contained sacred material for Josephine. And her secret garden had been disgustingly and egregiously violated. And by that animal.

The beautiful Persian rug looked like a battlefield on which lay monographic carnage. Books ripped from their homes. Wrenched open, shamefully violated, torn, abused. Specific ones- she knew them by site. The ones he had gotten her. Books that contained handwritten love notes from him spanning two decades. Nothing comparable to Tennyson, but romantic nonetheless. Some of them she would have held when she thought he was killed in Hong Kong. Some ardent reminders of clandestine trysts, some simply Christmas presents.

And was that smell...piss? Had he pissed on the rug? Was this some sort of marking of territory?

Why? When would this retribution end for her? When would he cease this punishment for rejecting his marriage proposal??

Why did he gain so much pleasure in the torment of her!

“Jo,”came a pleading voice from behind her.

“No. You. You get out of here. YOU GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!” She screamed like a lunatic. She turned around and found an antique decorative candleholder. Hurling it at him, it hit his shoulder and ricocheted out into the front room.

“JO! GOD DAMNIT!”

"LEAVE ME ALONE! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!” He backed up reflexively, shocked at her reaction.

Josephine shut the door in his face and leaned against it. She tried to lock it, but her fingers weren't fast enough before Jedediah shoved the door open, sending her to the floor.

“Josephine, please. Just listen to me. You’re being hysterical.”

She shuffled back up to standing. “No. I will no longer be the focus of your ire, Jedediah. I can’t bear it!” She backed up until her thighs had bumped up against the escritoire. One of her hands dangled behind her like the hand of a drowning woman came to feel another decorative candleholder. “You wish to imprison me!” Sightlessly, she groped the candleholder and grasped it tight.

“Settle, woman! Hear me out!”

When Jedediah was close enough she brought it up and then down, praying for the element of surprise.

It hit him on his skull, just above his left eye with a flat thud.

He gripped his eye and fell backward. “AHHHH!” He let out a deafening roar. He was grasping for her, but she darted around his reaches and ran toward the front room.

Two policemen entered the house upon hearing the ruckus. “Inspector!” Josephine stood, wide-eyed, trembling. She had no where to run.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you, Miss.”

Jedediah had shakily risen to one knee, his head down like a penitent, grappling for anything to help him stand, and huskily barked from the library, “You do not touch her, Constable.”

The Constable who came to his aid, “sir, ought I--”

“No, you ought not, Constable. We had a bit of a disagreement. That is all. If you would give us a bit of privacy.”

The Constable watched as Jedediah’s eyes crossed as he said this.

“Of course, sir. We will be right outside if need any assistance.”

Josephine remained frozen in her position as Jedediah approached and slumped in a nearby chair.

He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the blood that began to trickle down his forehead.

"About the library..."

"YOU are a blackhearted, hateful...ugh! Why do you hate me so, Jedediah?!"

"Jo. God damn it. I don't hate you. You just...need to listen to me for a moment. I passed out in the library. The piss...I know. I am sorry."

"The rug will have to be replaced."

"Yes, I know. I will see to it. Your books. I was angry. You were not here, but they were. And I was drunk. For that I am sorry. "

"They cannot be replaced. You know that."

"I do," he replied sadly.

She took a moment to gather her wits and compose herself. The corner of the candleholder's squared base had caught him in exactly the spot where Drake's last blow knocked him out cold. The impact drew blood and made his left eye twitch with pain.

"I'm sorry I hit you above your eye," Josephine said quietly.

His eyes crossed a bit as he chuckled.

"You are tiny, but you are precise and quick. Had you been a man and a foot taller you'd have made a great fighter."

"That is the nicest thing you've said to me in a year, Jedediah Shine."

"You knew exactly where to strike me."

"As did you."

Jedediah groaned and sniffed.

“County Inspectors are now required to enlist armed guards at their private residences. There is an increased need for protection. Perhaps you will find it within you to adjust to the new circumstances.”

"It feels like house arrest."

“Jo, in London the worst thing about policing was the waiting. Waiting in court. Waiting to speak to witnesses or suspects who will most likely never appear. Waiting to talk to a magistrate or a judge or a doctor. Waiting for someone to come forward with information. There was an abominable amount of waiting involved in the work. Hard for a man like me.” His tone became lower. “Here, however. You wait and you die. The enemy, you see, he’s the one who waits _._ He waits for you to turn your back and then he strikes. You have to be one step ahead at all times. Guarded at all times. Thus, whatever you see fit to call the status quo, you’ll not be going to and from the market without an escort of some kind.”

His face was weary. His shoulders were slumped forward, and he looked like a man who hadn’t the energy to explain anything more. If she had tried to end his life, he might not resist her. He might lie on his back and welcome such peace.

He was a brute. But he was a tired, overworked, and struggling brute.

What was a man in his condition doing as a County Inspector in these times? He needed a doctor. Not the nimgimmer who throws morphine and coca at him like it’s candy. But a real doctor who would take the time to find out what was wrong. For the first time in a good long while, she really looked at him.

She felt a longing to go to him, but feared his bite.

Instead, she just nodded and said, “alright. I understand.”

*****

She had left Jedediah by the hearth and gone to bed. After three hours she heard the hissing flames being doused.

She listened to him slowly take his bath, grimacing as he sluiced water over his head, over the fresh wound she had inflicted.

She felt him slide into bed next to her, stark naked, clutching her for warmth. His breathing was uneven, and she thought at first it was because it was because it was a cold Spring night.

“You’re so warm,” he said huskily.

He snuggled closer, sighing. “I’ve longed to hold you like this, Jo.”

She wondered whether she ought to object to his presence, but he had every right to be there as she did.

She didn’t bother asking him what he thought he was doing for that was becoming quite plain. She didn’t bother asking him about the pain in his head, for fear of making self fulfilling prophecies.

She was still angry with him and wanted to jerk away, but she had longed to be held by him like this.

Instead, she rolled over to face him. In a startling moment, out of sheer hunger, Jedediah grabbed her hips and slid into her. He sighed deeply with satisfaction and relief, placing his lips on hers. They lay still for a moment, savoring the sudden reconnection. He caressed her back slowly and then moved against her, Josephine responded in turn.

They moved slowly with and against each other, mindful of the pain in his head and the growing pleasure in their bodies.

Jedediah set the rhythm, but let Josephine carry out the force of the movement. Josephine grasped his hips and pulled him close, rocking her hips to take him closer, forcing him towards his climax as she struck hers, as every breath he took became her own.

A momentary ceasefire.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note - this chapter contains acts of domestic violence.

It was a beautiful spring morning in Josephine’s back yard on Jerusalem Street. She had gotten up that morning, thrown on her morning jacket and asked one of the constables to walk up to the corner bakery and grab some rolls. She gave him some extra to get some for the other three who had stood guard all night. This gesture wasn’t completely altruistic, she had to admit to herself. The shame she felt for Jedediah’s dramatics the past night had made her want to show the constables that she was fine, all was well, and we could all go about our business today like nothing happened. Ever the peacemaker, she was. 

She opened the window in the kitchen and breathed in the aromas of the blush noisettes she had planted close by. The comforting aroma of honeysuckle by the back gate that was beginning to sprout at the first sign of warmth also floated in. 

A sense of foreboding sat in the corner of her mind, however. The letter...she had a hard time believing she had gotten by with her meager excuse. She knew Jedediah would probably look into the address, look into the solicitor. What could he find out? And what if he did find that the solicitor was not actually a solicitor, but Edmund Reid himself? Surely he wouldn’t be able to obtain that information. 

Surely.

She had finished making coffee when she heard the floorboards creak behind her. Jedediah, half dressed and half awake, struggled to slip his collar on. 

“Here, let me help you. Sit,” she commanded gently. 

He did as he was told. 

She finished the last clip and then took his tie, fastening it in the back and folding it carefully in the front, pinning it in place with one of his tie pins. Straightening and adjusting it to make it just right. 

“There,” she said with a slight smile. 

He smiled at her. How normal this gesture was, as though nothing had happened. 

“I have made coffee, and sent one of the men to get rolls. He should be back…” just then a knock came, “now.”

She set the table for him and poured him some coffee. There they sat, eating breakfast, playing the peaceful couple once again. 

“What will you do today, Jo?”

“Well, first things first, I must get some chop for the larder, some potatoes, other grocery items. Then I’ll have Mr. Maloney come to take the rug from the library, I imagine. It needs a proper cleaning.”

“Be sure to tell Maloney to send me the bill. You don’t need to pay for that. It was my fault. I’ll be late coming home, but I should be here before 8.”

“Alright.” She asked no questions.  


He got up and grabbed his coat. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he bent down and kissed her on the crown of her head before leaving for the door. “I want us to chat tonight, Jo. Chat about the future.  _ Our _ future.”

She turned to look over at him, smiling as she did so. “Yes, of course.”  


*****

The banging on the door was loud and insistent. Séamus Collins opened it to see an RIC Sergeant and two constables. 

"Afternoon, Collins." 

The words came, not from the Sergeant, but from County Inspector Jedediah Shine, who appeared further back away from the door.

“My, what a lovely place you have here, may I come in?”

“Of course.”

Jedediah entered the house, nodding to the Sergeant as he stepped by him, who then went through the rest of the house, closely followed by the two constables.

“I had a chat with your son-in-law, yesterday, sir.”

“The doctors believe he’ll regain partial speech, no thanks to you," said the old man.  


Jedediah smirked. “I don’t tolerate treason, sir.”

The man heard the policemen moving about upstairs, the tinkle of glass breaking and the heavy thud of furniture being overturned.

“Have you lost something, Inspector?” he asked deadpan.

“I receive many reports of suspicious activity in this county, Collins. Your name keeps appearing. Now why is that?”

“I’ve got a popular name?”

Jedediah smirked. “You are popular, sir. Popular among the animals who think to roust the British from this country. I’ve been captured and tortured before, Collins. Starved to the point of delirium. Beaten to the point of submission. It’s amazing how loquacious you become after everything that is human is taken away from you and all you want is a bit of comfort. 

Your son-in-law, resilient bugger, he became rather loquacious himself after the hallucinations started. Mentioned cash. Guns. Your name. This house.”

“My son-in-law was ever one for a wild imagination, Inspector.” He pulled his pipe from his pocket.

“Come, come, sir,” Jedediah chided, an amused smile on his face, “surely you can do better than that.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Very quiet up there now… maybe they found something.”

The tramp of boots on the creaking stairs broke the silence. 

The Sergeant stepped back into the kitchen with the two constables.

“We found the cash, sir. And a coffer of British guns.”

“Well done, sirs. Wait for me by the door. Collins and I are going to continue our chat for a bit.

Shine watched them leave. Collins began to sweat lightly. 

“Now, Collins, let’s discuss your son-in-law’s wild imagination again, eh? He mentioned your only son, Séamus, Jr. Dangerous fellow. Also very popular. Ambushed a team of RIC men, one of which was the son of the Inspector General. As you can imagine, the Inspector General has a keen personal interest in your son’s capture. And when I do capture him, Collins, I assure you he will lose more than his speech.”

Shine smiled, noticing the effect his words were having on Collins. He leaned forward and looked Collins in the eye, “You will tell me where he is or my men and I will pay a visit to your lovely daughter. Once we finish with her, I’m sure she will prove to be plainer and more willing to offer up her brother’s whereabouts--”

“You won’t touch her, you dirty bastard!

Collins didn’t see the punch coming. It rocked him in his chair, almost toppling it over.

Collins swung up and punch out at Jedediah, who grabbed him by the hair and smashed his head into the stone floor. 

Jedediah stopped seeing him after a while, blinded by anger. After a few moments, he felt strong fingertips grip his shoulders and haul him back. 

“Easy sir, easy...don’t trouble yourself with this one.”

The Sergeant’s brow frowned as he stared into his superior’s wild eyes. Shine could feel a terrible throbbing in his head. Then he looked down at Collins. There was blood under the old man’s head, but he still appeared to be alive.

*****

Jedediah and his men had returned to the station after a couple of hours. He was immediately affronted with a report that one of his leading Sergeants had been attacked and beaten the previous nights by masked men outside a local pub.

He had shut his office door and stared out the window. The beating probably happened while he was wrapped up in Josephine’s arms. Then he thought of her. How lovely she looked this morning. Things would be better soon. He felt it.  


Then came a knock on the door. 

“Come in.”

“Sir,” the Constable placed a sheet of paper on his desk.

“What is this?” Jedediah sat down and looked up the Constable.

“The report you asked for, sir. As you requested, I wired your contact in Whitechapel, who looked into the address on the envelope. The Post Office Box. The information is there in the report.”

“Give me a summary.”

“Well, the address belongs to a solicitor, a Sir George Lewis Esq. of Whitechapel.”

Jedediah nodded, Josephine had said the same. “Is that all?”

“No, sir. The contact said that the solicitor’s name is a false identity. It is an alias of a kind.”

“Of what kind?”

“The informant kind. The Post Office Box is used by the head of H Division for anonymous correspondences. He has a few, evidently.”

“The head of H.”

‘A Detective Inspector Edmu--”

“I know who the head of H is, Constable.”

The Constable noticed a twitch in the Inspector’s left eye. Jedediah could tell he had more to say. 

“What more, Constable.”

“What’s more, come to find, the solicitor says the Inspector has been receiving these letters around the same time every month for the last few years. Always with no name, always with no return address, once from Liverpool, and then from Belfast thereafter.”

Jedediah froze.

Snapping back to reality, “See if the man can get his hands on some of the past letters.”

“How many, sir?”

“Two, ten, twenty. It makes no bloody difference! As many as we can get, Constable.”

“Yes, sir!”

Jedediah’s eyes stared at the report, but could not read it. His hands became claws, gripping the edge of his desk, fighting to keep the beast chained.

Liverpool. She bloody wrote to him when they were in Liverpool. She called it their honeymoon. She said she had loved him. How she wanted to leave their lives in London behind and start afresh. All lies. Every smile, every tear, every embrace. It was all a lie. 

Edmund Reid. So, he did indeed manage to get to her. What could she possibly be writing to him about? "No change in status." What did that mean? Writing every month. Was she reporting on him? His whereabouts? To Edmund Reid? 

Shine felt a sardonic laugh grumble low inside him. Reid wasn't happy to simply destroy his livelihood in London. Reid had to ensure that he maintained the upper hand with him from across the Irish Sea. A Trojan horse. That's what Josephine was. "thank you for A.F.'s address." He bloody took advantage of her sympathies for Albert and got her to play snitch. Clever copper, he was. 

He stood up, rolled his shoulders, paced for a moment, then with a roar shoved the contents of his desk to the floor. 

The upper hand stops now.

*****

Josephine was standing in her back garden when she heard Jedediah’s hansom clicking up their street. 

“Where is she!” she heard a distant roar, and knew it was him. He came to the back door, locking eyes with her for a moment before dismissing the constables. He had a look of savage resolution on his face.

“You two, get back to the station.” When they didn’t respond immediately, he screamed, “NOW!”

Josephine felt like her knees might give out. She dropped the basket of roses and her stemcutter. 

She barely got his name out when she felt the sting of his hand across her face. It rocked her on her feet, but she managed to keep her ground. He backhanded her, stronger this time. She faltered again. Then another slap, this time, with more momentum. She fell to the ground, screaming at him to stop, begging and pleading to tell her why.

He grabbed her by the back of the neck and dragged her, swearing oaths of violence, into the house. He tossed her down into the front room where she fell against a table in front of the hearth. She scrambled in shock towards the hearthstone, grabbed a stoker and feebly tried to defend herself. 

“For the love of God! Tell me what I’ve done!”

He came at her, not at all afraid of the weapon and pulled it from her, sending her headlong into his chest. 

She grabbed hold of his lapel, trembling. He placed his hands on either side of her head and held her up to see him. Her cheeks were red and her bottom lip as cut. She saw nothing but visceral rage on his brow, murderous glint in his eyes, and the need for vengeance in his exposed teeth. 

This is my death, she thought. This is where it all ends.


	18. Chapter 18

Jedediah’s eyes were wild. His chest heaved. He shook with rage.

Josephine blinked at him, owl-like, mouthing the word, “please, please, please” over and over, her voice barely a whisper.

Tears fell like giant pearls down her cheeks.

He visualized crushing her skull with his bare hands. He could do it.  He should do it. He had the strength. She knew it.

Up until now, the fact that she knew what he could do to her was enough for him to never have to demonstrate.

But he had never dealt with such shattering betrayal.

To his surprise, he released the frightened woman from his vice-like grip, dropping her to the ground like a rag doll. Her skirts billowing out around her folded, convulsing frame.

Josephine clasped her hands on the top of her head, her elbows shielding her face. She prepared herself for more blows, but when none came, she didn’t sit up. She simply willed herself to stop hyperventilating. She could taste the metallic flavor of blood from the cut on her bottom lip from one of his rings. Another ring had tangled in her hair at the nape of her neck, where some had ripped out. Her cheeks were flush from impact, one side burning with torn skin. Those goddamn signet rings.

He surveyed her form and suddenly felt like he might reel. Bile roiled in his gut. A cold, prickly sweat formed on his brow. A meek and frightened voice from within, one that sounded like something a man with a conscience might suffer, posed the question, “how?”

He had never hit this woman before. Never.

And now he had.

Over the rush of blood in his head he could hear her fighting to maintain her composure, willful attempts to breathe normally.

His hands began to shake as he did this as her folded form strobed in and out of focus.

His heart began to pound and then the familiar electric pain from behind his left eye blossomed swiftly, aggressively. He reeled and fell to one knee, gripping his own head while emitting a ferocious cry. His body folded over hers for a brief moment.

Josephine froze, but then moved to roll him off of her.

He gripped onto her skirts, convulsing as the pain slowly lessened.

She held out a hand to touch him, to comfort him out of habit, but stopped short before she made contact.

 _No_ , she commanded herself.

She scooted out from his grasp and crawled to a spot an arm’s length away from him.

He slowly sat up and composed himself, blinking briny tears from swollen eyes, his thick lashes stuck together in clumps as if he’d been in the bath. Tears made wet tracks down his face and disappeared into his beard. Clear, watery snot streaked from his flaring nostrils, which he wiped with the back of a hand. His lips quivered. One hand opened and closed, rhythmically clenching as if there could be some violent solution to his pain only if he could find it.

The pair stared at each other for an age, both uncertain of what to do or say next, both for different reasons.

In the end, it was Jedediah who broke the silence.

“This, this George Lewis. Who is he, Jo.”

“I told you. He is a solicitor.”

“Try again. Who is George Lewis.”

Josephine brought a trembling hand to her lip, feeling the cleft in the skin, wincing as she did it, but made no move to answer.

“Jo,” he said, to get her attention. “I want to hear you say it. Say his name.”

“Jedediah --”

“Say his name.”

“I need you to understan--”

“SAY HIS NAME, girl,” he bellowed. He sniffed and wiped his nose again.

He came off the chair slowly and knelt on one knee next to her. Her hair prickled at his proximity. He brought a rough finger, a finger which sported a signet ring on which hung a few pieces of her hair, under her chin and made her look at him.

“Say it,” he said softly, sensuously, but no less threateningly.

“Edmund Reid,” she finally confessed.

He watched her lips as she said the man’s name. His expression never altered upon hearing it. Instead, he brought his forehead to hers and trailed his hand from under her chin down her throat, fixing itself on the narrow column with barely any pressure.

She could feel his breath on her lips.

“Why,” he whispered.

She brought a hand to his hand on her neck, “Oh, Jedediah,” tears came again. She became aware of the most infinitesimal increase in pressure on her neck, signaling her to answer the question. He felt her swallow hard under his palm.

“He promised to allow Albert to leave London under his protection, with no further inquiries or discipline, and give him access to a bank account in which I had deposited several thousand pounds sterling.”

“In exchange for?” he encouraged.

“In exchange, for monthly accounts of your whereabouts. He wished to know if you planned on relocating to London and whether or not your old business activities would begin again.”

“And when did your correspondence begin,” he asked softly.

“3 years ago.” She wept. “In Liverpool I mailed him the first letter.”

Jedediah nodded his head. “Yes, I know.” He gazed lovingly down her face, down her decolletage, which heaved.

“Tell me, Jo, what reason did he give you that he wished to know my whereabouts?”

“I told you. He wanted to have a heads up in case you returned to London and decided to re-establish your heroin trade.”

He let go of her neck suddenly and leaned back, surveying her from a different angle.

“What type of cards did he have in his hand that he could persuade you to keep sending him these reports, eh? Albert was released shortly after I left London, I’m sure, but here you were, living with me these three years, continuing with your sweet little notes to him month after bloody month.” He moved his hand under her right hand and lifted it, caressing it with his other, alternating firm presses along the fine bones and knuckles and massaging her fingers. “He know about Charlie?”

“No. He had no extortionary motives with me, Jed. He, in truth, theorized that you had killed Charlie. Please let go of my hand.” She tried to pull her hand from his iron grip, but failed.

“What did he have over you, Jo?” He desperately wanted there to be something that he blackmailed her with, that she was motivated by fear for her own reputation, or that she would lose money...something he could understand.

“Jed, he had nothing over me. He appealed to the goodness of my heart.”

Jedediah scoffed.

“Why do you look at me as though I’ve just delivered some kind of punchline? Is it so hard to conceive that I would want to do good for the wretched souls of Whitechapel and beyond and give a man a fighting chance whose cause--"

"A 'cause'," Jedediah scoffed.

"--yes, a cause it is to keep men like you from profiting off their desperation, while expecting nothing in return? Nothing except the promise to shield and protect an innocent boy from your cronies and give him a chance to begin anew outside of London? It _burns_ you that Albert found being loyal to Reid more palatable than to you, doesn’t it?”

“Albert is nothing."

“An expendable minion, one of hundreds for you, to be sure.”

“No. He was someone I tried to take care of for your sake. Not his.”

“Well, Albie was in my life long before you arrived, Jedediah. I held him when he skinned his knees, I fed him when he was starving, cleaned him up when he was filthy. You found him when he was lost again, promised to give him something to believe in, but all you did was force him to witness and sit in accompli as you carried out your mercenary acts.”

“What was he before I found him again? Do you remember what I told you?” She nodded. “A poisoner. A man who poisoned people who couldn’t afford better liquor. Oh, yes, Jo- he added sulphur to gin, caused many a man and woman to go blind. Do you know how I found him again? I arrested the little bastard time and time again. So I set him up in Bloomsbury. Fucking Bloomsbury with his posh hats and frock coats. Regardless of what I did to help or hurt him, at the end of the day, he was no more than an unappreciative Paddy who never once said ‘thank you, Mr. Shine.’ And now, once again, thanks to charity and nothing that he’s done for himself, he’s living the high life in the Midlands."

 _So he read that letter as well_ , she thought.

“Jo, you have always been soft when it comes to the sufferin’ of others. To be sure, there is suffering aplenty in this world. But I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that compassion lingers around you like a whore’s perfume.”

“You speak of compassion as though it were a weakness. You always have.”

He smiled ruefully. “A weakness is anything that makes you vulnerable. Reid, with his great big brain, identified it in you immediately.” Jedediah shifted slightly.” He sniffed it off of ya and sought to take advantage of that big heart of yours for his own singular purpose and it had nothing to do with the safety of his people.”

She watched a vein bulge on his neck.

“So, he wanted to maintain an upper hand, to what end, to maintain some kind of dominance over you--,” she stopped suddenly. “Jedediah. Jedediah? Are you alright?”

A screeching pain blossomed behind his left eye again and Josephine watched as sweat beads formed on his forehead suddenly. He brought his hand up to the side of his head, clenching it into a fist as if it drive it away by force.

Now that she wasn’t in immediate fear for her life, she crawled towards him, but he held his hands up to her.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” he lied.

“You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine. Not since the fight.”

He stared at her for a good long while before saying, “you ask to what end. I’ll tell you. The night of the fight, when I was bested by the good Bennett Drake, do you know what I heard from outside the ring?” She shook her head. “I heard the voice of Drake’s superior, Inspector Reid, call for my death. He ordered Drake to deliver the killing blow. Drake refused.”

“He saved your life.”

Jedediah shook his head. “That is a matter of perception. To others, he saved my life. To me, he did no such thing. Drake condemned Ol’ Jedediah Shine’s soul that night, damned me to walk the earth, suffering with this pain. Until my day of reckoning comes, I’m bound to live Hell on earth, Jo.” Jedediah’s eyes didn’t move or blink, but tears fells as he said it. “Every day since that night, there ain’t once or twice a day I haven’t considered blowing what’s left of my brains out. Yes, I sit and consider it. When I've taken just the right amount of morphine the fear goes away, you see. I can never tell what it is then that stops me.”

“What?” she asked quietly, confused.

Jedediah brushed down his pant legs and stood gingerly. “I need a drink. You?”

She nodded.

“Do you know what has happened to my predecessors here, Jo? Disappeared, murdered, never heard from again. Each and every one of them. My superior thinks I have what it takes to bring justice to the man who nearly killed his son, ruining his life with a traumatic head injury.

“Seems I’m just the man for the job on account of my special skill set in the acts of persuasion.” He took a deep drink. “He’s right, of course.”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I am a violent man. I fight. It’s what I have always done. And I make no apologies for who I am, nor will I. But, while I once thought myself immortal, I realize my body is beginning to show signs of wear. So, I take morphine. And I take the coca tablets. And it allows me more time, you see. It allows me to control the effects of mortality that Bennett Drake subjected me to so that I can survive another day. One show of weakness and I am dead."

“This is why you refuse to see a real doctor about your condition.”

He nodded. 'Well, that, and I won't have some Irish nimgimmer diggin' around my noggin.

“Chances are, I will not escape this place on my own two feet. My day of reckoning may come any day now, Jo. Reid and the good people of Whitechapel have never been in any danger of my return to London. And thanks to you, he will be informed of my passing at the hands of an Irishman before the worms will have had their fill. For him it will be the highest of high days, I’m sure.”

Jedediah sounded sorrowful, tired, and defeated. He reached for her; he noticed her flinch.

“I know you are afraid of me now. But you needn’t be, Jo. He sat by her and placed his hand on hers. “It is, after all, Reid who deserves my wrath. Not you.

“Dear girl, you were not prepared to handle his dishonesty. I have never lied to you about my brutality, my hate, or my way of life. Unlike Reid, you never looked upon me with judgment in your eyes, even though you could have. And you probably should have. I have very little capacity or patience for sentimentality and love in my black heart. But what I do have I hold for you alone. It has ever been the case.

"I know you believed that my marriage proposal was meant to possess you. But I didn’t want to possess you. Though I am jealous man, I wanted to love and protect you by the law. By giving you my name I could ensure that you automatically inherited all that was mine if and when I met my inevitable fate and there was no will to be found.”

“What is it you want from me, Jedediah? To keep me here to torture as you did this past year? Now you tell me you think of ending your life regularly? Do you wish to keep punishing me? Is that what brings you true pleasure? Why do you not liberate me from this bondage?"

“Is that what you want? For me to let you go?”

Her breath caught as she stood up and turned to face him. “I don’t want to live in fear of you! I don’t want to watch you suffer as I know you do, only to be pushed away when I try to hold you and ease your pain. I need to be happy, to feel loved."

“And to be happy and loved you need to be free of me and back in London, is that what you mean?”

She stared at him. That wasn’t at all what she was saying.

“Need is not the right word. I don’t need to be away from you. I need air to breathe, I need water to live, I need food to nourish the body. I want,” she paused, wiping a tear and looking down at her hands, “there is so much I _want_.

"What I _want_ is for you to love me as you once did. In all these years we’ve known each other, I never lied to you when I told you I loved you. My heart was bound to yours years ago on a Soho rooftop. That bond has never broken. That bond got me through the years when you were away. And it is the sole reason I am still here now. Do you really think, if I wanted to leave you, finally, that I would still be here? No. You know I am more resourceful than that.

I _want_ to be beside you! My place is next to you. It has always been next to you. If your place is on top of a heap of burning horse droppings then I want to be next to you. You are convinced you will meet an inevitable fate here. Then so be it, I want to be beside you as you do.

I _want_ us to leave this wretched place and go back to London, Reid be damned! back to the reeking cobblestones, unwashed bodies, and penny gaffs.

I _want_ for us to wake up to an orange sky in the morning when the sun makes its forlorn attempt to burn through the polluted air!” She squared her shoulders.

“I _want_ you to promise me you will never, ever hit me again.

“I _want_ to hate you. You say I am soft for those that suffer. It is true. My pride yearns for me to walk away and never look back, but in my heart I know I will never love anyone as much as I love you, Jedediah. How can I leave you? Hm? Look at me, my dear. I don't want to leave you knowing how much you suffer! 

“And finally, I _want_ us to forgive each other,” Jedediah’s eyes widened as she knelt down and placed her hands on his knees. “For if we were keeping score on how much pain we could bestow on the other, it seems we now are even, my love."

He nodded, dumbfounded. “Jo, I ask…” he faltered.

“You ask my forgiveness. You shall have it. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me? I do not ask that you forget, I ask that you forgive me. Trust, if we want it again, will come in time. But, I cannot forsake you, Jedediah. I ask that you do not forsake me.”

Jedediah dragged a tired hand down his face. "I could no more forsake you than I could my own heart and soul, Jo. I forgive you, woman. God damnit. I wish to throw Ed Reid through a tree, but I forgive you. You asked me what I want from you?"

"Yes," she answered.

"It's simple really.  _You_."

 


	19. Chapter 19

A gasp woke Jedediah just as dawn stretched across the ceiling.

It came from Josephine.

She jerked out of his arms and sat up in bed. Her long, brown curls concealed her back, a pale brown shield that concealed a slanted bruise along the right side of her back where she had impacted with a wooden table. When he had pushed her.

Jedediah sat up, a pounding occurred inside his head, inside his ears- the sound of his own heart.

“What is it?” he murmured, his body tensed.

Turning, Josephine’s eyes swept over him. They were far away, unfocused, rimmed by lavender shadows. “I have to go to him. He needs me. I no longer hear him…”

“Who needs you, Jo?”

“My Jed; I can’t hear him now.”

“Jo, I’m here, love.”

Gently, carefully, he pulled her back down into the curve of his body, cocooning her with his arms and the silky web of her hair. “Shhh. It’s all right.”

She remained stiff in his arms, determined to look for a man she thought she could no longer hear.

Jedediah smoothed a baby-fine curl off her forehead; it coiled and clung to his rough finger. He nuzzled her temple, savoring the smell of their co-mingled sweat and sexual satiation, and underneath that, a hint of gardenia and her own unique scent- a sweetness that varied from woman to woman. “It’s all right, Jo. I’m here. You don’t have to worry about your Jed. Go back to sleep.”

Her resistance evaporated in a sigh.

“He is so far away. He died,” she mumbled, eyes closing, breathing slowing. “They said he died…”


	20. Chapter 20

Jedediah lay awake for the rest of the morning as he held her next to him. His bladder ached something fierce, but the sheets were so very warm and Josephine’s body was so very inviting.

At some point he must have dozed because at the site of her large, blue eyes looking at him he started. They regarded him alertly, undimmed by sleep or dreams of the dawn. Her hair was a glorious, mess of tawny curl.

“Hullo, girl,” he murmured sleepily.

“Hullo,” she smiled. 

Her eyes. So pale, clear. Achingly expressive. They spoke of loneliness and pain and the gut-wrenching need to to nurture those who needed it most.

The cut on her lip, the bruise on her cheek. 

She said she had wanted to protect the people of London from men like him. But she had also wanted to protect him from himself. His greed, his trafficking connections. It was easy money. And yes, he would happily fall right back into it with little regard for the effects his goods would have on the good folk of London. By giving Reid the upper hand, she thought she might stop him from falling back into old habits. He wouldn’t hate her for that. As angry as she had made him, he would not hate her for her intention. She had no way of knowing how deeply Reid had insulted him. Had no way of how desperately Jedediah yearned for the opportunity to regain the upper hand.  He would see to it that one day he and Ed Reid would come face to face and Jedediah would at last have the final word.

“You’re late for work. I’ll make some coffee,” she began to pull away from him.

“No,” he held onto her, forcing her to drape herself over his chest. “Don’t pull away from me. Not yet.”

She smiled up at him and laid her head down on his chest,  listening to the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, vaguely remembering a dream in which he was lost to her. Lost in the Orient. She pushed the feeling of fear and loneliness away, feeling the smooth skin of his belly under her fingertips, connecting the dots of each mole and freckle, inhaling deeply and lazily. 

*****

“Jed,” she called after him sweetly as he was about to walk out the door,  _ I love you _ , “would you like a steak and kidney pie for supper?”

“I would,” he smiled at her. Constables will be back soon. Don’t go to market without a guard. Take Thompson. He’s the keenest of the bunch. He’ll keep you safe while I’m gone.”

“Alright. I’ll see you, then.” She watched him leave. 

*****

Josephine turned to the Constable before climbing into the hansom. 

“Thompson, I’d like to make one stop before going to Market.”

“Of course, miss. Where shall I take you?”

“To my solicitor. His name is Murphy …”

*****

“One question, Inspector Shine.”

“What is it.”

‘What’s ‘enfilade’ mean?

Jedediah took up the military manual that had been confiscated during a recent raid. It was a manual being used by the IRB. 

“Enfilade, Sergeant,” is when a regiment manoeuvres to position themselves so they can rake the length and breadth of their column with their gunfire. You see, we are at war, gentlemen, with the IRB. We must understand before we go to war, what tactics and mindset the opponent, or the enemy, rather, is in before we engage. Read this manual. The IRB are growing, they are armed, and mark my word, they will become an organized army before it’s all said and done. Know your enemy, men, know their language, know their tactics,” he held up the manual, “know their bible.”

Josephine watched Jedediah addressing his men in a back office from the front desk. She rarely appeared at the station, but today she was seeing him on a business matter and it could not wait. He met her eye for a brief moment before dismissing his men. One by one, the men exited the back room and nodded their heads in greeting. Jedediah brought up the rear, “Jo, to what do I owe this honor?” 

“Jedediah, do you have a moment? I wish to discuss a business matter with you. It won’t take long.”

“Of course,” he placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her to his office, “Come this way.”

“Have a seat,” he offered, while closing his door. I have about 30 minutes before the Inspector General meets with me. He dropped himself into his chair.

Josephine pulled a leather folder and unfastened it, laying it flat on his desk. “I won’t take long,” she reiterated. He watched her admiringly as she opened the folder. Her hair was up in a loose bun and her hat was the color of slate gray and lilac. Gorgeous colors on her, he thought. 

Feeling his eyes on her, she revealed a thick vellum document, placing it directly in front of him.

He leaned forward on his desk, his fingers entwined together in front of him. He began to read the preamble to one and realized what he was looking at. 

Finally, Josephine began to state her case. “Jedediah, if you recall, I had... refused... your marriage proposal last year on the fact that I wished to not open up access to my accounts and shares.”

“Yes, I recall," he said huskily. “This is a marital settlement. A contract,” he observed. 

"It is. This contract outlines a division of property, including but not limited to, our shares, our holdings, and our monies, during the course of our marriage."  


He looked at her aslant. "Our what?"

“We sign them with a witness, anyone here will do," she said gesturing around them,  "return them to our solicitor, he files them and when the deed is done we know by tacit agreement that we can trust each other, absolutely, when it comes to matters of finance.”

He nodded his head in understanding. “Deed?” A grin began to form.

_ Is this the only word I said that he heard? _   “Yes, she stared at him for an insecure moment. “That is, if you still wish me to be ‘Mrs. Jedediah Shine?’ Perhaps we can find mutual satisfaction in this arrangement?”


	21. Chapter 21

“Sir, the Inspector General is here for you.”

Josephine stood up and began to pick up the agreement. She did not want to be introduced to his superior with a busted lip and a bruised cheek.

“You don’t need to go, Jo.”

“But, Jed, I…”

“Inspector Shine. Is this a good time, sir?” Cornwallis' voice boomed into Jedediah's office.

“Of course not, sir. Please, come in.”

“Good lord, man. What happened to your head?”

“Might I introduce you to my fiance, Ms. Josephine Wilde. Josephine, this is General Inspector Cornwallis.”

Josephine turned and held out her hand, trying to not notice the man’s equally visible reaction to the marks on her face. “Pleasure to meet you, Inspector Cornwallis.” 

“Pleasure is mine, Ms. Wilde. I dare say, have you both been in some kind of accident?”

Josephine smiled and turned to Jed with an expression that seemed to dare him to tell the man the truth. 

“Yes, sir. The lady and I were in a small cab accident recently. We are quite recovered.”

“Good, good,” he said in a disbelieving tone. “Seems a sin to observe such blemishes on such a beauteous visage. Say, Ms. Wilde, I do not detect much of a distinct dialect as one can with the good Inspector Shine, here. You can take the man out of Bethnal Green, isn’t that correct, Shine!” his guffaw was not met with reaction from Josephine, whom Jedediah could sense was revving up with a snide retort. He was accustomed to Cornwallis’ prejudices, and those from the man’s class. 

Cornwallis cleared his throat, “whereabouts in London are you from, Ms. Wilde?”

Josephine stared at him for a moment before she responded. “Greenwich, sir, via Soho.”

“Soho. Indeed.” He looked her up and down as though he began to understand some kind of truth. Some kind of delectable, enticing truth.

“Well, I’ll leave you both to your police business. Jedediah, I shall see you at home. Inspector,” she nodded to Cornwallis.

“Good day to you, Ms. Wilde,” he said with a smile that made Jedediah see red. 

“How long have you two known each other, Shine?”

“Several years, sir.”

“And has she been here with you long?”

“Yes, sir. She came here with me three years ago.”

“Indeed? I must say, I had no idea you had a companion, Shine. I assumed you were married to your work. What does the song say, ‘a policeman’s lot is a solitary one?’ Nonetheless. I’ve come to discuss Moncrief. The inquiry is complete. The man lives, the family should be satisfied knowing that. He’s lucky, considering he was guilty of treason. He shall be dishonorably discharged.”

“Not invalided out, sir?”

“He’s a traitor. And a traitor will be made an example of.”

“Agreed, sir.”

“Now, his father-in-law. He’s in hospital now. He may not recover from the blows he took during a recent raid. Well done, Shine. Well done. I like seeing that pit bull in you come out. Hopefully we shall see his son brought to justice soon. You get me his son. I shall see that you are duly rewarded.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Have you any idea as to how you’d like to be rewarded?”

“ I do, sir.”

“Well, man, let’s hear it.”

*****

Jedediah stood on the back porch and rolled his cigarette, offering one to the men who stood guard. “...yes, sir. Looks like the rain will abate today.”

“What’s that, then?” Jedediah cut in, noticing a rumpus beneath one of the back hedgerows. 

A gray and white dog appeared, on high alert, ears back, fangs displayed. 

“Well, well, well, hello there, old boy” Jedediah said calmly as he lodged the cheroot behind one ear and slowly stepped off the porch. He slowly approached the animal, whose wide skull showed visual scars. Eyes wide-set and and strong jowls, there was no mistaking the breed of dog. He whistled to the dog, whose tail shot up immediately, and held his hand out. The dog hesitated.

One of the constables cocked his handgun. “I’ve got my eye on him, sir.”

“Stand down, Constable Morris, there’ll be no need for that, “Josephine appeared suddenly. “He’s a bit like a big baby, isn’t he. Ain’t ya, bub? Come ‘ere, boy!” Josephine clapped her knee and commanded the dog over to her, who snorted happily and and bounded passed Jedediah to her. The large animal wagged his tail, and panted, looking up at her with hopeful eyes.

“Jedediah, meet Harry. Harry followed me home from the market and I fed him, now he’s made his home here!” She pulled up her skirts slightly and squatted down in the grass, nuzzling the scarred beast, who did the same in return.

“He’s a bull terrier, Jo. A fightin’ dog. Ain’t the domestic type,” Jedediah said gruffly.

“Neither are you, Jed. Only look at ya now,” she looked up at him and smiled, ruffling the dog’s ears, “yesh, look at him now! About to be a husband and no mistake. Yesh, that’s right, Harry!” Josephine’s voice was breathy and full of delight. Jedediah kept his eye on the dog. The dog kept an eye on him, likewise. The two males measured the other keenly.

“I wish to keep him, Jed. I trust your men, but there’s something about this dog…,” she considered her words for a moment, then decided to go with it, “that reminds me of you.”

Jedediah took a drag off his cheroot and furrowed his brow, saying nothing.

“But you love dogs," she continued.

“I do, but look at them scars. He’s been trained to fight.”

She stood up and placed her hands on her hips with a look on her face that seemed to suggest she failed to see his point. The dog sat back on his haunches next to her feet.

“Before you say anything, Jo, there’s a difference between a man who was trained to fight and an animal. He senses you might be a threat he will lash out. His bite is deep, lethal. You can’t reason with an animal. You can’t… I don’t know why I bother, woman. You’ll do as you wish nonetheless.”

“I understand what you’re getting at, but by all means, make your case,” she said, gesturing for him to continue with her hand. As she said this, Harry jumped up and sprang playfully towards Jedediah. Josephine held her breath for a moment. She felt the constables tense behind her. 

Jedediah sidestepped, quick as you please. “Sit,” he chided. The dog did not comply immediately. Instead, he growled quietly and acted as though he might playfully charge the man again. Jedediah averted by making a fist over his head, making the dog stretch his neck up and back for a proper sniff at the suddenly fascinating appendage. Jedediah reached farther back, forcing the dog to reach farther back as well, until, finally, the dog had no choice but to plop his rump on the grass at his feet to keep his balance. “There you are, boy,” he said. “That’s a good boy.”

Harry sat obediently, panting and licking his lips, until he simply felt like laying down on his back. exposing his belly to the one he recognized as his master. Josephine hoped the constables did not notice how flushed she was becoming watching Jedediah establish his dominance over the animal. Jedediah would have noticed the splotches on her neck, she was sure. 

“Awww, would you look at that,” she said as more of a distraction than anything else, “Harry’s acknowledging the alpha dog.”

“Jo, you may quit at any time.”

“He’s got your eyes, you know.”

Jedediah knelt down and rubbed the dog’s soft belly. “She’s quite the comedienne, dog. Don’t make me regret this, Harry, whatever she has named you,” he said quietly. “Now then, as long as we can agree that I’m the top dog ‘round here, we’ll get along just fine. You going to keep our Jo safe while I’m away?” Harry jumped up on all fours and yelped in response. 

“Well, then, if you’re to be ours, let’s see how well you fetch,” Jedediah grabbed a small stick and threw it across the yard. “Get it, boy!” Harry launched after the stick and retrieved it for his new master, waving his tail as he did so. Jedediah bent over,  retrieved the stick from the dog’s jaws, and petted him on the muzzle and neck in approval. “Good boy. Yeh, you’ll do,” he said in a low voice. Placing both hands on either side of the dog’s face and eyeing him,  “look at them scars on you, boy. I do believe you seen the inside of a ring, eh? Well, you ain’t no more. Our Jo, she’ll treat you right, she will. No more ring fightin’ for either of us now, boy. Life is gravy now, son.” Jedediah stopped as he felt the eyes of his constables on him. “Alright, son, Ol’ Jed’s got to go take care of some business.”

Jedediah walked towards her, a stoic expression masking a child-like glint in his eye. He cocked his head, noticing the splotchy marks on her cheek and neck. With a smirk he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close. She let out a small yelp and smiled.

“I’m to the station, Jo. I shall see you tonight,” she could feel his breath on her cheek. The splotches darkened. He lingered there for a moment, feeling her chest heave against his, before pulling away.

“Yes,” she said breathily, “‘til then.” With a sense of longing watched him walk through the house and out the front door, amazed that after all these years and after all that had happened her heart could still sink at the site.

*****

Josephine pointed to the box Jedediah had set upon the table. “What have you got there?”

Retrieving the box, he shoved it towards her. “A gift.”

“For me?”

“No, I merely wished for your opinion on the wrapping.”

She snatched it up with a laugh. “Aw, thank you.”

He grunted.

She shook it gently. “Quite light, it is. Should I be gentle with it?”

“No. You going to open the thing or rattle it until it falls apart?”

She began to pull at the knotted twine. “Did you wrap this yourself?”

“I did.”   


“You should have left the light on,” she said with a wink.

He laughed and sat back in the chair.

Josephine lifted the lid on the small box and gasped when she saw the contents. She pulled out a smaller box, a ring box. A brown, beaten leather cube that sat comfortably in the middle of tissue paper.

She knew this box. It had contained a ring that Jedediah had once purchased for his mother. His mother had rarely worn it since it was so valuable. She had been afraid to flaunt it in their old neighborhood.

“Jedediah,” she faltered, picking up the box and opening it. Within sat a familiar rose gold ring, yet different. “Your mum’s…”

Jedediah took the ring and held it up, watching the light dance off the diamonds. “I had this made last year, when I proposed the first time. It was my mum’s ring, but I had a local jeweler change up the jewel a bit. I know you how you like opals, so he put an opal in the center, then took the diamonds and placed them around the stone, like a flower.” 

He turned the ring to illuminate the inside. “See here,” he handed it back to her, “read what it says.”

She swallowed hard when she saw the tiny inscribed words. “Forever thine."

Jedediah waited for an eternity until she finally said something. He sat in relief as a smile began to blossom on her face. Then she was positively beaming at him. Then she was crying. 

“Jo? Is everything alright?”

“Alright? Alright?” She repeated. “This is perfect. It is utterly and without a doubt, the most beautiful ring...I… I am speechless. And to think you’ve had this stowed away for a year.”

He placed the ring on her finger. “There’s something else in the box.”

She looked in and pulled out a bundle of orange blossoms. “Oh, how lovely these are,” she said in wonder.

“I thought, perhaps, for your hair.”

“And one for your lapel. Jedediah, thank you.” She hugged one of the blossoms close to her chest and stepped forward, cupping his cheek with her free hand. Then she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Come, let me thank you properly."


	22. Chapter 22

Josephine hiked up her skirt and lifted a leg over his thighs, settling down on his lap. The chair strained and creaked under their weight.

“After tomorrow, you shall not escape me ever again. Will that please you, Jo?” he asked with darkness in his eyes, as he reached for the comb in her hair and pulled it out. Her hair spilled around her shoulders. He ran his hands through it, admiring its silkiness.

“It will."

“Tomorrow, before the eyes of the law, you shall own me, heart, body and soul. Will that please you, girl?"

“It will,” she faltered feeling his hand trail up her thigh, reaching for and unhooking the garter that held up her stocking. She dreamily buried her nose in the bundle of orange blossoms.

“What else would please you, woman?” he murmured, his mouth brushed along the line of her jaw to her neck.

“I want to be your lover. Your whore. Your wife. Your companion on this earth and beyond.”

“My, but you are a greedy, wanton girl. And?” he lulled in her ear.

She sounded drugged from lust. “I want...I want you to rut me. Cleave me in two.” She felt his cock harden beneath her as she undulated and rubbed her flesh against his growing bulge through his trousers. She lowered his suspenders down over his shoulders, then deftly plucked free the buttons of his shirt, spreading it to reveal his bare chest. With open palms she felt his hard nipples, then lower...

Each button she released on the front panel of his trousers revealed darker hair that lead to his manhood.

She shifted her weight back and hooked her boot heels on the stretchers between the chair legs, lifting herself up so that she could carefully reach down and gently grasp his engorged cock.

It throbbed.

She throbbed.

The chair throbbed.

“Well then, my dear, your hound is here.” He lifted her slightly and sheathed himself into her, attending the ache that blossomed in her core, causing a gasp to escape her. The moist heat of her vulva searing his manhood.

“Take your pleasure from me, girl,” he breathed.

He kept a hold on her hips, burying his face in her neck, breathing hot air around her as he did so.

His hands hugged her hips as he shifted in the chair to gain better traction, moving her up and down on his cock.

She felt his incomparable strength in his arms, in his chest.

Her heart sped up as she peered at him, moaning in her bosom, lost in his own ecstasy.

His moans became breathier. He arched his neck back with his head hanging in a lull. She could see veins bulging on his neck and forehead. She placed both hands on his shoulders, her nails digging into his shirt and flesh and pressed her lips to his. She began to move her hips wantonly, in a more forceful rhythm that made him choke on a moan, and made the chair under him protest with the weight and force of their bodies.

His breath hitched. She felt his hands spread over her back.

“Yes, yes,” he moaned beautifully.

A face was reflected in Josephine’s dilated pupils. One that was naked with need, curiously vulnerable in its single-minded intent, open-mouthed and gasping for air, nostrils flared in its undisguised want.

“Come with me!” he harshly urged her. “Now!”

Josephine threw her head back and cried out her release, dropping the blossoms on the wood floor.

Jedediah buried his face in the hot crook of her neck. Her muscles clamped his cock in a fist-tight vise, fusing their flesh into one. An agonized groan vibrated in his chest, his lips, the tendons cording his throat. Then his hot seed burst from him inside his beloved.

He inhaled her scent- the light scent of gardenia, musk and feminine sensuality.

She kissed each part of his face, trying to catch her breath, hot and sweet on his skin.

He looked at her beautiful face, a delicate pink flush suffusing her cheeks. “Jo,” he said suddenly, slowly stroking her cheeks with his thumbs while cradling her ears in his palms. “My Jo.”

When reason began to return to both of them he brought a hand down to his side and grabbed hold of a chair leg, giving it a shake.

"Huh," he mused, clearly impressed. "Irish oak."


	23. Chapter 23

Jedediah jerked awake and shivered, feeling a clammy sweat at his neck. His hands trembled. He felt the familiar pang behind his left eye. He needed his medicine.

He hauled himself to his feet and limped through the early morning darkness to the front room to retrieve his kidskin pouch from his coat pocket.

His tongue felt thick and dry; he was starving, too.

Every step to his coat was a battle to stay upright.

He fought the feeling of nausea that climbed in his throat, feeling his body shake and sweat roll from his forehead and down his temple.

He retrieved his medicine, sat down, and shot up quickly, thankful for the warm, soothing sensation racing through his veins.

He could hear something. An echo of a sound. Footsteps on a creaking floor.

“Jedediah?”

She saw him turn his head towards her and grunt. “What is it,” he managed to say.

She sat down next to him and gently took his head with both hands. He felt her pull him down to her lap. He stretched out beside her, feeling her fingers in his hair until the painless dark swallowed him up again.

*****

Jedediah didn’t want to open his eyes as he felt the light touch of fingertips trace a path across his brow. Josephine hummed a ballad  in a soft, lilting voice. He could listen to it all day; its tone gentle and light, caught on the wind and brought to his ear from some magical place. He lay still on her lap until he could lay still no longer, then he opened his eyes.

“Just like Ms. Pearl’s, eh?” she whispered, looking down on him. “You used to sneak in to see me in my tiny room after a fight, sometimes drunk, sometimes simply exhausted, and I would hold you while you slept until it was time for you to go walk your beat.”

“You were always looking after me,” he said, losing himself in her blue eyes.

“Even when you didn’t need it.”

“Sometimes I pretended to need it even when I did not,” he admitted hoarsely with a sly smile.

She laughed. He loved the sound of that laugh. “My heart would always leap when I heard your footstep on the landing outside my door. Every night, I would wait for that sound like it was the glue that held the fabric of the universe together.”

He ran a hand down his face and sat up next to her, throwing his arm around her shoulder. She knitted herself to him and sighed heavily.

*****

“Come on, girl,” Jedediah called from the carriage. He had placed his walking stick inside and climbed back out to wait for her. “We’ve not much time!”

He wore a fine, white shirt with a stiff collar that dug into his throat. He wore a brilliant brocade amethyst puff tie secured with a jeweled pin. His fine silk waistcoat, upon which an elegant timepiece chain sparkled, hugged his fit waist in stripes of lavender and taupe.

Inside the house, Josephine inserted her hat pin with a smile, turning her head left and right in the looking glass before hastily locking the front door and turning on the landing.

A vision in rose, her high-necked blouse was a beautiful cream silk. Her mauve-colored skirt was plain, hemmed with an ivory lace, with a matching fitted jacket. Her hair was gathered in a loose, high bun, dappled with a few tiny orange blossom blooms and topped by a mauve and violet hat, upon which she had affixed the rest of the posy.

Jedediah watched as she smiled at him with her tawny complexion from the new spring sun and floated towards him down the path. At once he saw her in so many different forms: the unsullied teenage lover, his East End Queen, his mistress, his mourner, his lifelong companion, his soon to be wife, all corseted up in a beautiful rosy vision.

He was tempted to make her walk alone towards him so he could keep watching her, but there was a gentleman in him after all. He went to her, offering his arm to walk her the rest of the way.

As he turned towards the carriage he heard it. The sound of a gun going off twice ripped through his ears as though he were next to a fireworks display. The echo of the BANG! BANG! ricocheted off the front of his house.

Then everything happened in slow motion.

From his left, Harry bounded towards the attacker, barking and baring his teeth.

Constables swarmed to the bush.

He focused on the hedge, seeing a man pulled from it. Forced down on his knees, beaten into submission. The disheveled man, a young paddy, the fugitive he’d been looking for, had found him first.

The bullets were meant for him, but the boy had missed. Jedediah Shine could not be ended. Again.

As soon as the thought struck him he felt Josephine grow heavy in his arm. He barely registered the blood on her stomach as he reached an arm around her shoulder, the other under her knees and bounded for the carriage.

“Get to the bloody hospital! Get to the fucking hospital! NOW!”

As the carriage sped down Jerusalem St., Josephine lay dazed and pale in his arms. She reached a heavy arm up to her hair and patted it shakily, “Jed, my flowers. My flowers?” She was in shock. He knew it.

He was struggling to breathe, “your flowers are fine, girl. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.” He kept her talking on the way to the hospital, which seemed to keep her calm until she saw the stretcher.

“Jed,” she gripped him tightly when the realization hit her. “Jed! Jed!” she frantically reached out for him when men in white coats took her from him, but winced in pain as she did so. “No, NO! Get off me! Don’t let them take me!” Her eyes were wild, full of fear.

She hated hospitals. She watched them take her mother.

“Jo, do not struggle! Do not struggle! It makes it worse!” his voice broke. Each time she flailed the blood stain grew.

Her panicked screams were guttural, eventually degrading into something hoarse and demented.

Those screams continued in his mind long after the doctor administered the first dose of morphine.


	24. Chapter 24

It had been four hours before anyone found Jedediah. He’d been sitting hunched in a lonely corridor of the Royal Hospital, away from the din of the hospital’s usual chaos, going over the events as he remembered them, over and over. He gripped the handle of his walking stick fiercely, as though by some physical force he might erase the sounds of her screams that echoed in his mind. Echoed like the gunshots.

He had been in hospital with his men countless times, some passed or survived.He had feared the loss of a good comrade. What it might do to the morale of his division.

This, however, was different.

This teetered somewhere perilously close to panic. It tasted like acid in his mouth, cut his insides like razors, and ignited a fury of a thousand suns.

Collins would pay. And it would not be gentle, and it would not be quick. There would be no quarter. Jedediah imagined the Vikings and their proclivity of executions by way of the blood eagle. He remembered the worst tortures he experienced in Hong Kong. Old Testament fury. It was all there, boiling in his soul’s cauldron. He simply had to pick the right one.

Josephine was somewhere in the hospital, being opened up, being viewed by strange men and women who knew nothing about what a woman she was because of the Paddy terrorist.

She felt so far from him.

God, he felt bloody useless.

“Sir,” the sergeant addressed his superior, but received no response. “Sir?”

Preference would be to not be disturbed by anyone at the moment, but he knew the Sergeant, who was out of breath, was coming on business.

Glancing up at him, “what is it, Sergeant.”

“The Inspector General received word of the Collins man being detained. Wished to speak with you. There’s a telephone in the main administrative office, sir. Shall I call him on your behalf?”

“No need, sergeant.” The sergeant stepped back and waited as Jedediah gripped the arm supports of the chair and hoisted himself up with a groan.

“Where is the man now?

“In the bang-up, sir.”

“Inspector, sir?” came a voice from beyond the Sergeant.

“Chain him. Do not feed or water him. I will talk to the General Inspector and deal with the miscreant mysel-,” Jedediah trailed off as his eyes focused on the man approaching.

“Yes, sir,” the Sergeant said.

“Inspector Shine,-” the doctor addressed him.

“Thank you, Sergeant, that will be all,” Jedediah dismissed his subordinate.

“Doctor, how is she?”

“In recovery. She had two bullets enter her abdomen. One of them I was able to extract in total.”

“But the other…”

The doctor averted his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “We can’t get to it without cutting deeper. I’m afraid if we cut into the artery she will bleed out.”

“Do you have it?”

“Do I have what, sir?”

“The bullet.”

“Oh yes. Come with me. Ms. Wilde is in recovery, as I said, but you may see her through a window.”

The two men walked toward the recovery wing.

“I cleaned the area around the second bullet as best as I could, but an infection is likely. She is here,” the doctor pointed to a glass partition.

Jedediah peered through the glass at Josephine, who lay peacefully asleep while two nurses tended to her body in repose.

“She will need to remain in hospital for a time, Mr. Shine, while she begins her recovery.

“May I see her, speak with her?” Jedediah’s voice

“I would not recommend that anyone other than hospital staff go in at the moment. She is still under the effect of the anesthesia and is unresponsive. She is stable and must not be excited. Go home for a time, get some rest, finish up some work- whatever you have to do- for now. You may come back later this evening. She may be awake then. If anything changes we will send word.”

Jedediah conceded.

“Be sure to keep two of my men outside her door at all times, doctor.”

“Of course, sir. Come, I’ll show you the bullet I extracted,” the doctor said.

They entered the doctor’s office. “Please, have a seat,” the doctor offered and gestured towards his chair. Jedediah preferred to stand.

From his desk he pulled out a petri dish that contained the splayed bullet.

“May I,” Jedediah requested.

“Please. By all means,” the doctor handed it to the outstretched hand.

“You would know, but I believe it’s a .45 caliber.”

Shine shuddered internally. There was no telling how much splintering the remaining bullet would have done in her frail organs.

The bastard would pay.

*****

Collins sat on a flimsy chair in a middle of a cellar room with no windows. The air was stale and dank. He focused on so many things as he sat in the glare of Inspector Shine and the Inspector General. He saw Shine’s thick forearms, shiny with the sheen of sweat. He wondered how much more his body could take as Shine, like the damned attack dog that bit him in the face after he shot the man’s woman, slung left and right hooks at his superior’s command.

Then Shine delivered a straight jab that smashed his nose at the bridge.

Collins curled his split lips into his best attempt at a smile. “Fuck the lot of you. Bleedin’ Peelers. You animals all deserve what’s coming to ya. You and your English whores.”

Jedediah lost his composure. He hit him with all his strength, sending the chair he was tied to over on its side. His vision blurred as he struck out, kicking and stamping with fury.

He stood panting over the still body.

Cornwallis remained seated and grimaced.

Jedediah paced around the body, sucking in the dank cellar air until his breath steadied and his composure returned.

“Mannion!” Jedediah roared, “Get him out of here and back in his cell.” He stepped over the body and headed for the door. When Cornwallis spoke he stopped, but did not turn around.

To Shine’s back he said, “I’m sorry about your fiance, Shine. Were the doctors able to do anything? Could they get the bullet out?”

“One, yes.”

“There were more than one?”

“Two, sir. One is lodged deep.”

Cornwallis silently pondered at what this might mean. “I want to see the man die in agony. I wish for you to finish the job at your convenience. There will be no inquiry, I shall see to that. Then you shall have your retirement. You have my word.”

“I need to get her home. Get her settled. Then I will return and finish this job. You have _my_ word, sir.”

*****

The next few days Shine barely left Josephine’s side. He went home briefly to grab the two books she was reading off her nightstand and then would sit and read to her.

The nurses who administered her medicine noted to themselves how different the menacing Inspector was toward the woman.

A reputation to be reckoned with around town, in her little hospital room he transformed into something altogether gentle. The glow of the electric light, under which he quietly read out loud, stopping only now and again to doze, illuminated his shape, which was becoming more and more weary each day. In the event that he noticed a twitch of her hand he would set the book down and lean in towards her ear, whispering endearments and encouragements. He looked like a lost puppy, desperate for guidance from his master.

They brought him food, which he was extremely thankful for.

On the fourth day, Josephine woke. A searing pain shot through her abdomen, deep down, and the usual dose of morphine seemed to barely touch it.  

She kept her chin up as the nurses helped her take her first steps to wash herself, to use the water closet, etc.

The agony was palpable, however, and usually after an hour of labor Josephine would collapse onto her bed in exhaustion.

Her doctor informed Jedediah that all that they could do now was send her home, manage the pain. It was an earth-shattering prognosis to him. One that almost guaranteed that in the event that infection did not set in and her body effectively poison itself from septic shock, she would live with excruciating pain, living out her remaining years a walking corpse, dependent on morphine to face each day.

Like him.

Jedediah came to the foot of her bed and watched her.

He could not let that happen to her.

Slowly, he stepped around her bed and eased down to sit on the mattress near Josephine’s knees, his body angled towards her. He turned his head, and ran a gaze over her whole form, committing to memory the very shape of her.

Josephine took a deep breath and her brow tightened. Jedediah’s attention flew to her face. She shifted slightly, turning her face towards him.

Jedediah inched closer to her and looked down at her visage. He whispered to her, “do you dream?”

Josephine’s forehead relaxed; she was calm and peaceful once more.

With his right hand, he gently scooped up her left, her fingers reflexively curling around his.

Josephine floated to consciousness slowly. She inhaled deeply and fluttered her eyes.

“Jedediah…” Josephine breathed. Her mouth was dry, her voice raspy.

Closing her eyes, the haze of the morphine affected her deeply. “Look at me,” he ordered quietly.

“We’re going home, my dear.”


	25. Chapter 25

As the carriage arrived in front of their home, Jedediah pushed some of her skirts aside carefully and slid an arm under her knees and the other around her back. In one smooth move, he had her in his arms and against his chest. 

Deep down, Josephine thrilled at the action. She giggled at the ease in which he hauled her up and out of the carriage. Lord, this man is strong, she thought. Instinct made her wrap her arms around his neck as he began the walk to the front door. 

His chest was hard and warm, and those arms that held her were practically puffing out of his shirtsleeves. Such power. So delicious. 

Delicious, like biscuits. 

Oh Lord, I am so hungry, she thought.

As they approached the front steps he adjusted his grip, lifting her higher against his chest, his large hand settling comfortably on the side of her knee.

He felt her staring at him and glanced at her, giving her a reassuring smile. 

A nurse followed behind.

“Sir, I shall undress her and get her in her night shift.”

“No, thank you,” he cut in. “I shall do it.”

Josephine’s limbs were heavy and she dozed on his shoulder as he defrocked her from the extra dress he had brought to the hospital, careful not to aggravate the bandage covering the large suture on her abdomen. The bandage was tight and blood had seeped through, revealing a rust-colored bloom.

The site made him shudder. To think there was still a bullet lodged deep.

He tucked her in their bed and gazed at her for a beat before taking his leave. 

*****

Night had fallen. Collins, weak from hunger and dehydration was dragged to a nearby barn where Jedediah Shine awaited him. 

He stood by a pole, deranged, disheveled, monstrous.

The loyal constables forced the man to kneel before the Inspector.

Shine pulled Collins up and forced to stand with his back to the pole, forcing his arms back behind him, where he tied them together firmly.

“Now, you will know my justice.”

The last thing Collins saw were the wild eyes of the bearded County Inspector, watching as the flames and smoke overtook his breath and vision.

*****

“I’ve just administered another dose of morphine, Mr. Shine. I’ve left some extra on the bureau, in case she wakes in the night and needs more,” the stout Irish nurse informed him. Shine stood at the fire, his head angled down, his right forearm leaning on the mantle.

He flicked the cigarette into the fire and barely looked up to thank her.

When he walked into the room, he took his normal spot in the chair by the bed.

At some point he must have fallen asleep because the sound of her voice startled him.

“Jedediah.”

“My dear. Are you alright? Are you in pain?”

She smiled and sighed. She then shut her eyes and slept for three days.

Her skin, jaundicing quickly, was doughy to the touch. He had seen many dead and dying bodies before. He knew what this meant. 

One night, she awoke again, frightened. Gasping for air, she turned to him, her eyes wild with horror. He grabbed her hand, firmly, consoling her, calming her. She mouthed something to him, desperate, but he could not understand or make out what she had tried so hard to say. Unconsciousness took her again.

When the raspy breathing began, it was subtle at first. After a few more days, it had become a tortured thing. Josephine writhed and struggled with every breath. The sound infiltrated every corner of the house and his mind. He dreamed about it, he ran water in the water closet to drown it out - still he could hear it. It was as though her soul was crying out in agony, imprisoned in the failing flesh

He had no inclination as to whether or not Josephine was conscious enough in her mind to feel any pain. She seemed already gone. Her corpse stubbornly clung to this world, an animated collection of bones. An aberration.

A voice in the back of his mind told him what he needed to do. For her sake. For his sake. His heart skidded nervously, then, setting his mind to it, went to task. 

Dragging himself into the hallway, he spied the syringe and morphine vials. He walked slowly back into the room and sat down close to her. He prepared the syringe, adding what he thought was enough to be lethal. He seemed outside of himself as he did this.

He grabbed hold of her arm and held the syringe close to her skin. He pressed her veins to make them rise. The needle wavered as he tried to position it.

He barely breathed.

Slowly, he emptied the contents into her body.

When he was done, he leaned forward and kissed her. One last time.

She sighed one last time. 

The breath ceased, her face went slack. 

It was done.

He held her skeletal hand to his lips. A single drop of grief welled up from the corner of his eye, when suddenly, the dam exploded. Lowering his head and holding her hand to his forehead, torrents of grief coursed down his nose, dripping onto his knees. He shook to his very core.

Jedediah emptied two vials into his own arm, one after the other. But before his eyes rolled to the back of his head, he gazed once more at Josephine, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

_ Jedediah blinked a few times before swimming to the surface of consciousness. He slowly looked around the room. It was dusk. Silence surrounded him. The front door was open. He was standing on the threshold. He looked up ahead toward a hill, upon which stood an ancient Yew tree, and moved towards it as though he were being pulled by a puppeteer. _

_ He crested the hill and looked out over an ancient and wild moor. Weariness overtook him. A deluge came, cold and unforgiving. He gasped at the sensation. He felt a strong need to return to the shelter of the house, but as he did, he saw Josephine. Or, rather, a version of Josephine standing in the doorway. _

_ The gusts of wind and rain blew her thin nightgown against her skeletal body, exposing her frightening shape. Her eyes, once vibrant blue and passionate, now clouded over and bereft of life. An angel of death, come to take him. _

_ Her hair nearly blown horizontal. It tried to speak to him. Oh, how it tried. _

_ The mouth produced the sound it was attempting to make. Repeating one word over and over: _

_ AWAKE! _

“Awake! Sir! Mr. Shine! MR. SHINE!” Jedediah’s eyes flashed open as the nurse shook his body. His heart raced. He gasped for air. Adrenaline shot through him, but he was frozen on the floor between the bed and chair.

“Oh, sir! I thought you were gone! Your Missus. God bless her soul! She’s expired, sir. I must fetch the doctor!”

Jedediah, confused, groaned as he struggled to sit up. The past evening rushed back to him. In a panic, he raised onto his knees and looked at his beloved. There she lay in her final repose, lifeless. Her eyes were half open, looking at nothing. Her mouth was slack. With a trembling hand, Jedediah moved his hand over her eyes, closing them forever, and whispered a loving farewell.

Death should have come for Jedediah Shine that night.   


But it did not.


	26. Chapter 26

Josephine was buried in a closed casket ceremony on her 45th birthday, a warm Spring day, on the Protestant side of Belfast City Cemetery.  

Although they never legally married, she was buried under the surname of Shine.

In the days following Josephine’s funeral, Jedediah did not go soft or poetic as some might have. He did not feel guilt for ending any pain she may have been in. He did not regret silencing the horrible shrieks that came out of her jaundiced body, days after the organs had shut down and started filling her veins with poison. After the last night with her, he did not cry again.

But he grieved. Oh, how he grieved silently and privately, as he stared at his boots whilst he sat for hours by the stone hearth, Harry at his side, in his cavernous house on Jerusalem St. 

He should have died that night. 

He wanted to die that night, he wanted to follow Josephine so that she wasn't afraid, but Death refused him.

Perhaps Death had no interest in coming for a man who had no soul. When he guided Josephine to her peace that balmy night, his soul, or whatever remnant of one he ever had, disembarked with her.

It was as simple as that.

He felt half a man living a half-life, with naught in his coal-black heart but hate.

He felt no different than an inanimate stone on the earth. Simply sitting, waiting for time and the elements to erode every last cell of his body into powder. 

If he indeed pondered what his purpose was now, why he was abandoned on this Earth, he would not have to ponder long.

An answer arrived in the form of an official letter, a formal request, addressed to the estimable County Inspector Jedediah Shine, Retired, sent from Scotland Yard and signed by the new Assistant Commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police, Augustus Dove.

Drake murdered.

Reid outlawed.

Appointment for H Division head.

Jedediah felt an ironic laugh grow low in his gut.

Here was something to live for.

He would finish the fight Reid started so many years ago. A fight he had thirsted long and hard for. Then, maybe then, Death would grant him his peace. And he would see her beautiful blue eyes once again, smiling at him, beckoning for him to come to her.

And in his mind, a voice:

_Woe to the wicked, who by their bad actions turn the mercy of Jedediah Shine into strict justice._


	27. Epilogue

Jedediah looks about him and tries to get his bearings.

He stands on a muddy cobblestone street, somewhere between here and the river, the wrong side, no doubt, where the men are absent, the beds dirty, and the hearths cold. He knows the place.

He turns, and he sees vast rickety row of old houses, two and three stories high, decomposing and held up by crutches of iron, cracks poulticed with sooty stucco, clothes lines, patches of rotting wood. A chaotic jumble of roofs, upper windows cracked and blackened. The sky above is just as filthy.

Despair in your heart, shit on your shoes. This is where he is.

He walks through an empty market with no manned stalls. Perhaps Princelet Street, he thinks. 

"She's 'ere. She stayed be'ind to be vit ya," the voice of a lone coster from behind startles him.

He stops and turns abruptly, but upon doing so sees no one.

Where are all the people of this dread city?

Turning again, he stands in front of a vast Georgian house that seems without decay. Its contours look straight and symmetrical. Such a rare occurrence in these parts.

He looks up, the window on the highest story is punctuated with the soft glow of a single candle.  He knows that room.

"She waits for ya," a hoarse female voice announces behind him. 

He doesn't bother looking back. He knows he won't see anyone. 

He stares at the door and knows to enter.

He is in a dark vestibule.

He enters an empty parlour. Strange, he thinks, that there are no people about. He feels he may be dreaming.

He knows this place. Ms. Pearl’s. His heart races.

Mounting the grand staircase, he checks a familiar room. Entering the room he peers left and right. A four poster bed with heavy drapes and a fancy clawfoot tub with a large copper heater attached. 

“Hello?” his voice an echo.

He steps out of the room, disappointed, and shuts it quietly.

He turns and spies a narrow set of wooden stairs that twist and meander up to a higher floor.

He mounts them, boots scraping the narrow surfaces. His foot hovers over one, knows it to be semi-rotten. Stepping over it, eagerly continuing his journey up to the little garrett room at the top of the landing.

He is practically flying now. Bursting through the door he finds piles of books, a tiny candle in window, a small bed in the corner, highlighted by a milky sunbeam that comes in from the angled window, covered in blankets and books, open and shut, on top and beside each other.

A petticoat hangs on a hangar on one side of the bed.

Dirty boots lay next to the petticoats. A wash stand, a chamberpot. There is life here, but where?

"Hello?" 

His heart falls.

Where is she?

He steps back out onto the landing and rakes a hand through his hair. Above him he hears the wind hum against the eaves. A door bangs lightly against the stucco wall.

The roof, he remembers, where in his youth he had promised to protect her, where she had fallen asleep in his arms the first time, where their souls had conjoined forever. 

 _Forever thine_.

He finds the claustrophobic steps that lead to the rooftop.

He hesitates briefly at the foot of those steps and glances up.

One by one he mounts the stairs until he appears at the door.

The sky is a hazy shade of gray. The sun pokes through softly.

He steps out onto the roof.

A sea of smoking rooftops.

He glances to his left.

The silhouette of a woman with her back to him. She peers out towards the sea of smoking chimneys and rooftops.

Her brown hair is in a loose bun with rebellious tendrils floating in the breeze.

The scuff of his boots makes her start for a moment. Then she turns and sees him.

That glorious smile. Her dark features, so fresh and young.

His heart leaps.

“Jed,” she says thrillingly, “you’re here.”

Her eyes glisten. 

A boyish grin emerges. “How do, Jo. You're looking well, as usual."


End file.
